Between Friends: A Writing Project
by ficdirectory
Summary: 4 Friends. 1 Prompt. 6 Days. 500 Words. - A writing project between ficdirectory, Tara621, PenMagic & MyMagentaPeach. Each chapter is a one-shot from a different week's prompt with different characters. Updates weekly!
1. Held

**Prompt: **The exact moment(s) that two best friends fell in love

**Characters: **Quinn & Beth.

**Words: **712

For sixteen years, Quinn had been positive she'd known what love was. Love was her mother, telling her not to eat another Toaster Strudel before school in second grade because "she wanted to feel good about herself, right?" Love was her father, speaking her name with pride in his voice, connected with a string of accomplishments, ("straight As this year", "lost forty pounds", "got her braces off", "her nose healed", "cheer captain at school".) Love was Noah Puckerman agreeing to sleep with her on a fat day. Love was Santana swearing not to tell about their ridiculous pact they'd made in middle school, to starve themselves into Coach Sue's good graces. Love was her parents calling her Quinn, not Lucy, and letting her transfer schools.

Love was everywhere and nowhere.

Until, she saw Beth.

Labor had been hell. Mercedes had been there. Her mom, even. Puck, too. But Quinn didn't even register their presence. All that mattered was the seizing of pain that came fast and sharp and too long. All that mattered was getting her out. She had been certain giving that last - God, that _sixth - _agonizing push that she would not want to see her daughter.

Quinn was giving her up. She was firm in that. There was no way she could raise a baby, give her any kind of life. Be sure she grew up healthy and safe and loved when Quinn couldn't remember the last time she felt any of those things, really. In a way, this was the best gift she could give her daughter.

But then Beth was there. Not a part of Quinn anymore, and she expected it. She'd thought she wanted it. But now that it was true, all she felt was empty and in pain.

"Do you want to hold her?" a nurse asked, aware of the circumstances and that Quinn and Puck planned to give her up.

Quinn planned to say no. The word was inside her, and she was sure she would say it until it was actually out of her mouth. And it wasn't what she meant to say at all.

"Yes," she gasped.

Just like that her arms were full, and her heart was breaking. This was her daughter, her girl, who Quinn had to believe was meant to be in this world. Quinn just wasn't meant to be her mom. Quinn looked into those eyes - God, those eyes - and just knew.

Love was a feeling beyond words and description. Love meant something so big and pure and positive that Quinn would do anything and everything in her power to make sure Beth was loved and taken care of the way she should be.

Later, when she stared at the papers, Beth asleep in her basinet beside the hospital bed, Quinn had asked to be alone. So no one could see her tears. So that not even Puck or her mom or Mercedes could see the emotion that poured out of her. God, no one told her it would be like this. No one told her that getting pregnant and growing as big as a house, and going into labor at Sectionals was going to be the easy part. No one told her that giving up her child would feel like a death. Quinn sobbed quietly, so she wouldn't wake the baby who would grow up in someone else's family, and she thought about all they shared. So many moves and nights staying up late with Quinn reading aloud from textbooks so Beth could grow up to be smart. Every time Beth ever made a slow roll inside her, or pressed her tiny hand to Quinn's insides. She thought about all this and so much more as she signed her name on the line:

_Lucy Q. Fabray._

"This isn't because I don't love you," Quinn whispered to the sleeping baby, around the tears in her throat. "It's because I _do."_

And when Shelby Corcoran came to take Beth home, Quinn stood straight and strong, her eyes fixed ahead. Love wasn't what she thought it was after all.

Love was an ache. And love was a hole.

Love was growing up overnight, and realizing that the world was bigger than just you.

Love was letting go.

_The End._


	2. Stars

**Prompt: **The most memorable/meaningful summer fling

**Characters: **Santana & Brittany

**Words: **593

Of all the summers Santana and Brittany spent together, the last resonated the most deeply. They spent a week at Britt's family's cabin up north, and it was like their own little piece of the world. Where no one judged them. Brittany taught Santana to wakeboard and in return, Santana did Brittany's hair in a million different styles.

They slept 'til noon and ate big breakfasts that Britt's dad served every day. They laid out during the day, and at night, they sneaked out of the cabin and slept under the stars.

"How many do you think there are?" Brittany asked, her voice full of wonder as she stared at the dark expanse of sky dotted with countless points of light.

"I don't know," Santana whispered. "Only one that counts, though."

"The Big Dipper?" Brittany wondered.

"No. You," Santana admitted, snuggling deeper into their shared sleeping bag.

"Oh," Brittany smiled.

"I love you, you know that?" Santana whispered, because they were as alone as they would get out here. No one was on the lake. No one was anywhere. It was like the entire world had shrunk down to just the two of them.

"I love you, too," Brittany returned, kissing Santana gently.

"It's not going to be the same, though. Is it?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, this is the last chance we have to be just us. I leave for Kentucky, and you'll be back home," Santana sighed.

"I don't like thinking about sad things."

"Me neither, but we should face it, shouldn't we?"

"I think that day will be here soon enough," Brittany admitted. "It's better to just focus on tonight. Right now. We have each other, and all these hours, and all this sky. It's just for us. And that's pretty amazing, right."

"Yeah, it is," Santana agreed, settling down beside Brittany.

"This is the best summer ever, because we spent it together. So, no matter what happens next, we can look back at this and think of everything good…and of us." There was a pause. "Are you happy to be going to Kentucky? Or are you mad at me?"

"Why would I be mad at you?"

"That's not an answer," Brittany pointed out. "And, maybe because I didn't ask you about it. I just did it and didn't talk to you first. With Coach Sylvester. Getting you into the cheer program was something I wanted for you, but I never asked if it was really what _you _wanted."

"It isn't what I had in mind for myself," Santana admitted. "But I didn't really have _anything _in mind for myself. So, I guess I'm glad to have a future instead of no future. I don't want to cheer for the rest of my life…and I _can't _anyway…but it's a place to start. I'm just sorry I didn't realize you were having so much trouble. I could've helped you."

"Cheating isn't helping."

"You don't think I would've helped you figure stuff out if I knew you were having that much trouble?" Santana asked softly. "You don't have to hide from me."

"I know. I just didn't know what else to do," Brittany sighed.

Silence fell around them like a blanket, warm and comforting.

"What do you want? In the future?" Santana asked, fully expecting Britt to say professional dancer.

"I want to be your wife," Brittany said, kissing her.

Santana could taste her heart in her throat, but in Brittany's arms, she calmed down, remembering no one was here to judge them. "That's what I want, too," she echoed.

_The End._


	3. Brothers

**Prompt: **Blaine can barely look at himself in the mirror. But what's behind the door shocks him to the core.

**Characters: **Blaine, family, Kurt. Set in the We Are Who We Were universe (which is an AU retelling of events in Season 3). I had always seen the section on Kurt in my mind, it just never made it into the current story, so I included it here.

**Words: **500

Blaine can't look at himself. Not now. Not when he's terrified that he might see echoes of his brother deep in his eyes. After all, where does heredity end and environment begin? What, really, is stopping Blaine from turning out exactly like his brother.

There was a time when Blaine wanted to be just like Coop. But that was so long ago. Now his skin crawls every time he thinks about it. He can't settle on an image of his brother that isn't from this morning. He's in shock. He has to be.

He never expected to find what he did behind Coop's door. He just…didn't. Who would expect that? He can still hear his parents screaming. His father calling 911 and his mother trying to do everything she could, but it wasn't enough.

"Blaine," his father says, tapping on the bathroom door. "Come out here, please."

So, Blaine does. Feeling shocked and empty. Shaky. Just wrong. Because how could this have happened?

He sits down at the kitchen table, once he's stopped in his room for a shirt. Waits. "What is it?" he wonders, finally glancing up to see his father's dry eyes and his mother's devastation.

"We need to keep this quiet," his father cautions. "I don't want gossip spread about our family. Understand? So if anyone asks…at church…or school…or anywhere…tell them it was respiratory arrest. Do not bring it up first, this is only in the case that someone asks you. That it gets into the papers. He was well-known locally. I want us all on the same page.

Days later, Blaine gets a text from Kurt:

_Completely devastated. That adorable beautiful man from the credit rating commercials passed away over the weekend. Whenever I saw those, it made my day. Look for his obit in the local paper._

4:19 PM Wed, May 25

From: Kurt

They don't get the local paper, so Blaine finds it online.

_Cooper Anderson, age 24, of Westerville, passed away of a sudden respiratory arrest at his home on Sunday, May 22, 2011. He is survived by loving parents, younger brother and extended family…_

If Kurt hasn't made the connection, then maybe no one will. The location, the last name and the reference only to a younger brother isn't much to go on. No one at Dalton knew he had a brother, and Blaine made it a habit to not have him over to the house. It helped that his father didn't approve. It helped that Kurt's own father was supportive.

The thought of Kurt made his heart ache. If he couldn't be honest, then there was no way he could be around Kurt. He was like a litmus test for truthfulness. One look into those eyes and it would all come spilling out. So, Blaine deletes the text and closes his phone. It's only been three days. He'll give up eventually.

Blaine couldn't cope _with _his brother…but he doesn't know how he is he supposed to cope _without_ him either…

_The End._


	4. Puberty

**Prompt: **"He's at home, scared, terrified, and just wishing that it would stop."

**Character: **Unique

**Words: **500

"_Look, Mama! I'm a girl!"_

"_You're not a girl. You're just unique."_

Not that anyone in fourth grade asks, but that's how Unique was born. She still remembers that conversation from back when she was so little, wearing her mama's heels and a dress. Her mama had said how cute she looked, and told her she was unique. So, that's who she became. Not Wade, but a girl named Unique.

It was fine up until a while ago, when her body started feeling different. Doing different things. Hair was growing in some places that Unique shouldn't have hair. She got taller and started looking a little more like a man. Except Unique was a girl.

Most kids her age had nightmares about something bad happening to their family, or zombies, if they watched scary movies before bed. Not Unique. She had dreams of waking up with a beard and a moustache. She would cry and go to her parents and beg them, "Please don't let that happen," and they would ask, "What?" but Unique could never say.

So they could never help.

So now, she's at home scared, terrified, and just wishing it would stop. She's a girl. She's not just a boy who likes other boys. She's a _girl_ who likes boys. Who likes pretty things and skirts and high-heeled shoes, and makeup. She wants a girl chest, and a girl body. She doesn't want to just have kids someday, she wants to be a mother. Feels it in her heart. But how can she be a mother when her mama only lets her dress like herself and calls her Unique at home? And Wade the rest of the time? And her daddy doesn't like Unique at all. He only wants Unique to be Wade, but she can't be Wade so that's not fair.

"I'm Unique in my heart, Mama. You even said," she tries to say on those days when Daddy tells her to go change clothes and wipe off her face.

"I know, honey, but Daddy just can't see Unique yet. Let's let him get used to the idea a little first," she'd say.

And Unique wanted to speak up. She wanted to so bad. She wanted to say, "_I'm not an idea, I'm a person," _but she couldn't because she wasn't strong enough inside yet.

She isn't strong enough to tell her Daddy the truth and she isn't brave enough to shower with her eyes open, when all she can see is what _shouldn't _be there, not what _should._ There is no one like her. No one to help. Her dad gets her boy-smelling deodorant when she needs it, but in the mornings, when no one's watching, Unique will sneak in the bathroom and use Mama's instead. Mama's deodorant. Mama's perfume. Mama's lip gloss.

This way, even if Unique's body keeps maturing wrong, and she grows hair in all the wrong places, she can still smell like the girl she knows she is in her heart.

_The End._


	5. Opportunity

**Prompt: **The One That Got Away

**Characters: **Puck & Jake

**Words: **624

Puck was on his last pool of the day, when his phone went off. He wiped his hands dry and grabbed it, glancing at the caller ID.

Schuester. What the hell? He must not have deleted the number after their lame pact during Alcohol Awareness Week last year.

"Mr. Schue? Did you butt dial me, or what?" Puck asked, fully prepared to hang up.

"Noah, hey. No, I called you on purpose. Listen, I've got something to tell you, and I think it has to be in person. How fast can you get to McKinley."

"I'm in LA. Dude, did someone die?" he asked, losing his shit just a little.

"No, but this is important."

Puck rubbed a hand over his head anxiously. "Uh…okay… Give me a week, so I can get things together. I'll head back next Tuesday. Should be there by Thursday. Are you sure this isn't something you can just tell me over the phone?" he asked.

"Positive."

So, this truly was going to suck. He had no money for a four-hour flight, but he could make a two-day drive if he had to. So, he finished up the work week, and spent the weekend stocking up on Mountain Dew, beef jerky and Cool Ranch Doritos. He scrounged through his crap until he found the prepaid gas card that he'd gotten as a graduation gift from his nana and never used. He tried to relax, and enjoy the trip, but Puck couldn't help his nerves.

Thursday morning, he arrived, and drove straight to McKinley, feeling decidedly less like a badass, stopping at the main office for to sign the visitors list. Mr. Schue was there waiting for him.

"Noah, I don't know how to tell you this, but you have a brother." he said, and Puck appreciated that he didn't drag it out.

"And?" he asked, even though he wanted to ask a million questions. How had he not known? Older or younger?

"And he's confused. Lashing out. He needs the glee club, and more than that, he needs you. I wonder if you could wait for me to run to the cafeteria and get him. Meet us in the choir room?"

"Yeah," Puck agreed. "Hey. What's his name?"

"Jake."

So, Puck met this Jake, who was his brother, as sure as Puck lived and breathed. This kid, three years younger, who was angry, defiant, and putting on the tough guy act hardcore, to hide how crappy he felt about himself. When he left, Puck told him the truth, no matter what, they were brothers.

But deep down, all Puck felt was loss and an intense kind of betrayal. How different would his life have been if he and Jake had grown up together? Maybe, then, Puck might have had a reason to do better in life. He thought of his earliest memory, at three yeas old, hearing his mom arguing with his dad about some waitress and a baby. He hadn't thought much about it, just hid around the doorframe, and waited for when his mom wasn't busy, and his dad wasn't angry. Neither time really ever came.

The memory was hazy, but his dad's words echoed in Puck's mind:

"Biggest mistake of my life was having Noah. The baby means nothing."

But his dad had been wrong. As usual.

Jake didn't mean nothing. He meant absolutely everything to a kid who had grown up lonely and wanting siblings. He meant Puck got to show someone how to do better than he had done. Jake clearly didn't want anything to do with Puck, but Puck didn't give a rat's ass about that.

Puck had lost fifteen years getting to know his brother, and he wasn't about to waste another day.

_The End._


	6. Waiting

**Prompt: **Most memorable moment with your best friend.

**Characters: **Santana & Quinn

**Words: **500

Late that first night, after everyone waiting had gone home, and Judy had finally agreed to get some sleep on a bench outside the ICU, Santana stayed awake, and held Quinn's hand. Visitors were supposed to be in here five minutes at minimum, but Judy had cleared Santana, as Russell hadn't even bothered to show up to check on his daughter.

Shock rolled through Santana in waves. How in the hell could this have happened? Rachel and Finn were supposed to be married today, and while Santana agreed it was a stupid decision, it definitely would have been better than what ended up happening. Quinn's entire left side getting crushed by an oncoming truck. She'd just been through hours of surgery, and was still under the influence of some heavy medication. She hadn't opened her eyes, and only groaned in response to pain.

It was scary as hell. But Santana stayed. She couldn't leave Quinn alone in this place. They'd been best friends for five years, and while they definitely had their share of drama, if the situation had been reversed, Santana would have wanted someone there for her.

So, she stayed. She took deep breaths, and stayed as calm as she could so all of Quinn's vitals didn't freak out knowing someone around her was panicking. Judy was pretty much a mess and every time she cried, the numbers on the screens around Quinn's bed jumped and spiked.

She couldn't think of anything to say, so Santana just stroked the back of her hand and sang, remembering Quinn's longtime love of songs from the 50's and 60's. Santana didn't know many off the top of her head, but she found herself softly singing _We Belong Together, Georgia on My Mind _and _You Send Me_ because those were, inexplicably, the only three songs in Santana's head.

Santana sang until her throat was dry, until her voice cut out, and even then, she kept going. She wanted Quinn to hear her. To have a reason to come back. To fight. She wanted Quinn to have a reason to wake up and not just stay sleeping.

It had been hours. The sun was just coming up, and Santana was in the middle of her millionth chorus of _We Belong Together, _which she only recognized from the movie, _Selena_, when Quinn's eyes opened.

"Hey," Santana said, her voice scratchy and weak.

Quinn's eyes filled with tears and she glanced around the room, confused, and more than a little terrified.

"It's okay. I promise," Santana said, even though she didn't know anything about Quinn's condition other than that it was a miracle she was alive.

"I can't feel my legs," Quinn managed, her voice hoarse.

Though it scared Santana to the core, she didn't focus on the words Quinn had just spoken. Instead, she squeezed Quinn's right hand tightly. "Can you feel this?"

"Yes…" Quinn whispered.

"Right now, that's all that matters," Santana told her, and together, they watched the sun light their darkness.

_The End._


	7. Bullied

**Prompt: **"The First Time…"

**Characters: **Rachel & Kurt

**Words: **531

The first time it happened, Rachel cried. But not the second or the third.

The bullying started early, and it never really stopped. But her dads always taught her to be strong. When she came home crying in first grade because Ricky Nelson put a sign on her back that said "_Kick Me_" and then people had, and she hadn't known why? Well, that had been the very worst day. The day the backs of her legs were bruised but not as badly as her six-year-old pride.

Her parents had held her and talked to her. They gave her lots of water to drink, but nothing helped. Not until Dad said what he said.

"I'm not going to let them hurt you, Rachel. You have my word. I'm talking to the principal first thing in the morning."

And then Daddy taught her to stand straight and strong, and look bullies in the eye. He told her to tell them in a strong voice, "I don't like what you're doing," so the next time it happened, Rachel did.

But it didn't happen like her dads said. Her bullies didn't stop just because she told them to. They laughed at her and pushed her down. They started calling her mean names because she didn't have a mom. Rachel glared at them, but didn't cry. Her dads started noticing the change in her when she started singing _Alone in the Universe _from _Seussical_. She stopped trying at dance and voice lessons.

She felt sad all the time, and she stopped talking to her dads. They didn't know what it was like to be six. And even though they didn't say it, Rachel knew they got teased, too.

Then, it happened. A new person joined the class. He wasn't different when you looked at him or when he talked to you, but kids teased him, too. One day, when Rachel was busy looking for a good hiding place from the bullies, she heard him. The new boy.

Kurt.

He was in her usual tunnel she hid inside. Singing a song she recognized from _The Lion King_ musical, called _Shadowland_. Kurt had a very quiet voice, but it was very good. He could hit lots of notes and had good emotion. Rachel scanned the playground, relieved that no bullies wanted to bother her today.

Instead, she crouched down inside the playground tunnel next to Kurt and sang with him. Rachel knew all the words, even the African chanting sections, and it was much better singing with someone, than it was singing alone. Kurt smiled shyly at her and nodded at her to keep going.

The tunnel was very echoey, Daddy called that 'acoustics' and this tunnel had great ones. They sang until the song was over, and then Rachel reached out and shook his hand, looking concerned as he flinched.

"I'm Rachel," she said softly, because she didn't want Kurt to be afraid of her. He didn't say anything, so she spoke again. "Why were you singing that song?"

"I don't know…" he hesitated. "It's just how I feel inside," he confessed in a whisper.

"Me, too," she said, feeling her sadness lift just a little.

_The End._


	8. Faithful

**Prompt: **When tragedy strikes, help sometimes comes from the most unlikely of places.

**Characters: **Joe & Rachel (set in the More Than Words universe, chapters 1 & 2.)

**Words: **569

When Joe hears about the accident, he doesn't have to think. He gets in his car and drives. He prays. He waits, keeping a respectful distance, letting Rachel's parents have the privacy they need.

It's not like Quinn's accident, when everyone came and rallied around her. When no one left the waiting room for hours. This time, no one is even here, and that makes Joe feel even more strongly that he _should be_. That he should stay. He gets food for Rachel's dads and leaves it where he knows they'll find it when they're ready. He doesn't actually visit Rachel because they didn't know each other well, and Rachel's probably feeling really vulnerable. He doesn't think he'd like an acquaintance visiting out of nowhere, especially when no one he thought was a friend showed up. Halfway through the night, Quinn shows up. They sit across the room from each other and don't speak.

There aren't words at a time like this.

After that, Joe prays for Rachel daily. Specifically. He sends cards with thoughtful messages, light on the Christianity because he's sure she's Jewish and doesn't want to offend her or her family, especially at a time like this.

Over the summer, it starts. One night, he's awake, reading Psalms, when his phone buzzes on the counter in the kitchen. Part of his mom's rules for him having one, included that he turn it in at a certain time each night. He's near it, and he glances at the screen, taking a bite of ice cream before swallowing it quickly and picking up.

Unknown numbers could be telemarketers. They could be wrong numbers. They could be people with impure motives. Or, they could be someone who needed him.

Joe glances at the time. It's late. After 2 AM, but he picks up the call anyway, already asking God's forgiveness for blatantly disobeying his mom.

"Hello?"

"Joe?" an unusual voice whispers. It's throaty and kind of raspy, and Joe almost hangs up out of fear. There are some worldly people out there. But something makes him pause.

"Who's calling, please?" he asks, because it's always best to be polite.

"Rachel. Rachel Berry," the voice whispers again, and Joe can hardly believe it. He had known what Rachel sounded like previously. The difference is absolutely stunning. He knows without asking that she has to be devastated.

"Rachel, hey. How are you?" he asks warmly.

"Will you please pray for me?" she asks, her voice breaking. He thinks she might be crying.

"Of course. And I have been. I pray for you every day. Every hour."

On the other end of the call, Rachel sniffs. She is crying, and Joe's heart breaks a little.

"It's just…" she manages, and he listens hard so he doesn't have to ask her to repeat herself. "It's just that you're the most faithful person I know…and maybe…maybe with your prayers, I won't feel like this is all so hopeless…"

"There's always hope, Rachel. I promise. Always." There's no sound on her end, but Joe knows she is listening. "And, you know, I'm just a regular person, but I'm praying for you as much as I can. If you need anything, will you let me know?" he asks gently.

"I need my voice," she rasps.

He can't speak around the lump in his throat.

_No,_ he thinks. _You need to know that you're more than that._

_The End._


	9. Lives

**Prompt: **Utilize the "Spoon Theory" prominently in the story. The "Spoon Theory" is a metaphor for those living with chronic illness. A person wakes each day with only a certain number of spoons and each activity that is affected by their illness takes a spoon. When the spoons are gone, the energy for the day is gone.

**Characters: **Blaine & Cooper, set in the You Don't Even Know universe.

**Words: **825

On chemo days, Blaine sleeps as late as possible. Sometimes, he wakes up crying, because he knows it's going to be so bad. The cancer in his kidney had hurt, but not like the surgery, and definitely, not like this would. He freaks out for days. Sometimes, he needs medicine to calm down.

He wakes up with tears on his face, and pulls the blankets up over his head. His dad tries to make him feel better. He says, "Blaine, after this one, you only have one more," but it doesn't help, because each time, it's really, really, the worst thing in the entire world. He doesn't move, because he knows he is going to want this energy later. He doesn't want to eat, because - and no one tells you this - puking takes lots of energy. Usually, he waits 'til Cooper comes in and gives him a piggyback ride to the table. Normal nine year olds don't do this, but Blaine's not normal anymore.

In fact, he feels really old. Because he has to plan his day, not only according to how sick he feels, but how sick he's _going to feel_.

Cooper comes in. He's sixteen. They didn't used to be close, but when Blaine got cancer, they got close. Cooper stopped being so mean and Blaine stopped taking Cooper's stuff.

"How's it going, Blainey?"

"Seven," he mumbles.

See, it's like the old Nintendo from the '80s that Cooper taught him to play. Your guy always starts out with a certain number of lives, like a cat, except they're human. If you lose one, it's gone for good. If you lose them all, it's game over. That's what it's like for Blaine. And seven might seem like a lot, but on a chemo day, he needs 20, at least, just to get out the door.

Cooper saves him lives by carrying him places. By dressing him. By not letting him climb any stairs or walk any distances. Dad's at work, like always, so he doesn't complain about Cooper babying Blaine, and Mom is home. She understands. Blaine's always been small for his age, but the chemo and the puking has made him even smaller. Cooper says that's nice for him, because Blaine's really portable. That means he can be carried easily. But Blaine feels like a skeleton. Walking feels like a huge deal. Running is impossible.

"What do you want for breakfast?" Cooper asks. "Come on, eating will keep your strength up. It might get you another life."

"It doesn't _work_ that way! I _told you_," Blaine exclaims. "Seven is all I get. For the day."

"All right, I'll pick. We'll take it along, just in case…"

That's not all. Blaine makes sure he has his other backpack, not his school one. It has a book and a discman and some cowboys and soldiers, in case they feel like fighting. Plus, Cooper makes them have funny voices to distract Blaine from the smells at chemo. Smells that make him gag, even though the chemo doesn't have a smell. Sometimes, Cooper reads aloud to him.

The four hours pass slowly, but it's good Cooper's there, and his mom, too. He feels okay until he gets home and goes pee. It's red from the poison chemicals in the chemo. The first time it happened, he screamed and used up a whole life for that day. So now, he just imagines he's peeing out cancer. When it lasts for days, Blaine convinces himself he's peeing out _a lot _of cancer. It helps him feel stronger, before more of his lives get used up.

He used up four freaking out at chemo and screaming at Cooper in the morning, and crying before he got out of bed. He's only left with three for the rest of the day. He knows it's going to be bad. The hot feeling takes away one, just like that, and the sick feeling that stabs him in the gut takes a way two, and most of tomorrow's, just like that.

Blaine's lying on the couch, because he can't do anything. He can't even blink his eyes. Or shift himself around if he's uncomfortable, which, he is.

He feels someone sit down next to him on the couch and put a cold cloth on his head. It helps for part of a second and that's it. Then, the cloth is steaming hot like his head.

His brain feels foggy but Blaine remembers something. "My game," he says weakly. Because soccer season is in full swing. He can't be there. "I need to support my team."

"Support your team by getting better." The voice surprises him.

"Dad?" Blaine croaks. "I'm negative lives," he whispers.

"I know, kiddo. Just hang in there. Tomorrow's a new day. And it's coming, I promise."

Blaine doesn't talk, he just moves his head to the side, where he can feel his dad's hand, cool against his burning skin.

_The End._


	10. Protecting

**Prompt: **"God only knows what we're fighting for"

**Characters: **Burt & Liz Hummel

**Words: **575

"Honey?"

"What?"

"Honey, we need to talk. Kurt told me something when I was tucking him in."

That got Burt's attention. He rolled over, and looked at his wife. "What?" he asked again, a different question entirely.

"He said he's getting bullied at school. On the playground. In class. Everywhere. He says they were bullying a little girl named Rachel first, who has two fathers. Telling her that was bad, pushing her and kicking her. So, in the lunch line, he told them they were jerks. They asked him if he thought it was okay that this Rachel had two fathers, and do you know what he said?"

"How would I know what he said, Liz? I wasn't there," Burt grumbled. He didn't like where this was going.

"He said, 'So? Someday my kids are going to have two fathers. Are your kids going to tease _them_?'"

"The kid is six years old. How the hell does he know who he's gonna marry?" Burt complained, but his heart sped up. Kurt was honest to a fault. It was going to get him hurt. This was all happening too fast. He never imagined Kurt would have to face this kind of harassment in elementary school. He was just a kid. He still slept with a stuffed bear for crying out loud.

"How old were you when you chased me around on the playground with your arms open, too shy to talk to me?" she smiled, kissing him.

"Couldn't have been me," Burt claimed, rolling over. "Besides, we've known since he was three. He doesn't play sports except soccer, where he makes dandelion jewelry in the field. He plays wedding with his Power Rangers, they never fight bad guys. So what? Doesn't mean I love him any less."

"That's great, but honey…we've got to talk about this…"

"What's there to say?" Burt insisted. "He's a kid. He doesn't know what he wants. I mean, you know, he could change his mind. Nothing's set in stone this young."

"Will you stop being so stubborn and listen to me?" Liz exclaimed, smacking him lightly.

"_Why _are we fighting?" Burt asked, confused. "And why do you have to keep hitting me," he teased, rubbing his arm.

"_We're _not fighting. We're on the same side. Kurt's side. Can we at least agree on that?" Liz insisted.

"Yeah. Of course. I'd do anything for Kurt. You know that."

"Good."

"So, what do you want me to do? Go to the playground tomorrow and beat up the little jerks? Wait. Did he tell you what they did to him? They hurt that little girl, nothing would stop them from hurting him, too." Burt said, worry in his eyes.

"Yes, he said they make fun of him mostly. One kid threatened to beat him up but a playground monitor overheard and stopped it before things escalated. As far as what we should do, I was thinking of something more civilized," Liz commented, kissing him. "A conference with his teacher and the principal, maybe…and Kurt asked if Rachel could come to our house and play, so she wouldn't feel lonely."

"I'll tell him tomorrow he can have Rachel over, if it's okay with her parents. And we're meeting with the principal first thing tomorrow morning," Burt said, putting his arms around his wife.

"We've got a great kid, you know that?" Liz asked, after a pause.

"I know," Burt confirmed. "He takes after his mother."

_The End._


	11. Juggling

**Prompt: **A Moment of Weakness

**Characters: **Tina & Mike

**Words:** 950

For Tina, moments of weakness means juggling. Three boxes, not two. Her health, her history and her impulse.

She hates the ignorance that perpetuates stereotypes about what it means to do what Tina has done. It has nothing to do with wanting to die. Nothing to do with just being emo for attention. Tina firmly believes it's not the problem, but the symptom of a larger one. People who struggle with what she does know. It's about being so desperate for control the level of pain in her life that she was willing to inflict it on herself, so at least, she knows when it's coming. It _is_ about attention in the beginning. It was for her, the first time she did it, at ten. It was a cry for help then. And after that, it became like an addiction. It's had to be managed. Juggled, if you will.

It's tricky. They're boxes, not balls, and they're heavy. Laden with all the things Tina keeps closed inside. Her box of health is closed tightly, but sometimes, she loses her balance and it falls to the bridge beneath her feet. Those are dangerous times, when Tina has to balance her own weight with the other two boxes. The history box has been jarred, so memories are there. And the third box is wide open, an impulse in danger of escaping. She knows better than most, that all it takes is one weak moment, and she'll start over. She'll stop counting years, and have to start again with seconds, minutes, hours and days.

In these moments, Tina has to stay present. She has to clutch her health like a shield. She puts the box of history behind her, to lean on. Where it belongs. History is a mixed blessing. There are positives and negatives in there, so when Tina feels weak, it's best to keep her history out of sight. And her impulses? She sits on those, keeping the box closed with her full weight. She needs every ounce of strength to keep those from running rampant.

In those moments the bridge under her is shaky. Swaying. It could be the words she reads on a screen, off hand, or the thing she glances at on TV knowing it would be there. It could be the video about one thing that turns out to be something else entirely. Any of these things can cause Tina to drop her boxes. To stop moving. To sit tight until she can move forward again.

She's never really been to therapy, but she's researched on her own. She's searched out ways to manage her weak moments. In the really hard moments, she keeps her hands busy, doing something, anything that's constructive. She wears lotion, bracelets, long sleeves - anything beautiful - anything protective. She makes a point to take care of minor injuries appropriately, instead of letting them hurt. If random household items are hard to look at, she steels herself, and puts them away. She only uses them when she has to, and around others. It means being totally honest when all she wants to do is hide, and give in.

It's been several years since Tina's dropped all of her boxes. Since her impulses won out, and her health fell out of reach and her history didn't exist because it was being rewritten at that exact moment. But there are still times that catch her off-guard. It's not up to people around her to read her mind. It's up to Tina to let them know she is struggling. The first time she calls Mike, she's worried about what he'll say. It's the first time since sophomore year that she's had these feelings. Before they dated. They've talked about it, but never as she was fighting the urges.

"Hey," she says, one morning, after mindlessly switching channels and seeing something that has implanted itself into her mind.

"Hey," he says, yawning, and sounding happy. "How are you?"

"I'm…not that great, actually," she admits, her voice shaking. "I saw something on TV and I'm, like, trying not to use the live rewind button to feed that crazy part of myself, you know?"

"Not entirely…" Mike admits. "Can you be anymore specific?"

"I saw something that's bad for me…and I keep wanting to see it again," Tina admits.

"Have you?" Mike asks.

"Not yet. No." Tina breathes.

"Okay," Mike says, and his voice is steady. Sure. "Good. Well, I'd suggest not watching it again," he says, his voice calm and matter of fact.

"I know. I just had to tell somebody. Before it got bad."

"I'm glad you did. Hey, do you need me to come over?"

"No, thanks, I'll be okay," Tina assures.

"All right. Well, call me back if you need to. Even if it's five minutes from now," he says, and it's one of the million reasons she loves Mike so much. He trusts her.

"Okay," Tina nods, hanging up.

She takes deep breaths and imagines glancing across her own bridge and seeing another beside it. One where Mike is walking with all the elegance of a dancer, juggling his own three boxes. The image gives her comfort.

Eventually, the bad feelings subside. She stands up, feeling her box of health is more significant, but no heavier and the impulses are closed securely for now. She tosses the history in the air first, and the others follow suit. She must be getting stronger.

Deliberately, Tina takes one small step and then another, knowing that it's far more beneficial to use her need to control for something positive. For herself, her health, her history, and her future…for today…Tina chooses not to hurt instead of hurting.

_The End._


	12. Name

**Prompt: **Born This Way – give a new character a BTW shirt or update an original character's.

**Characters: **Sugar & Emma

**Words: **563.

Because Finn sucks as a leader - seriously, he does, ask Tina - Sugar is stuck with the idiotic letter press, in the middle of the rest of the club, trying to think of an insecurity she can put on her shirt that won't be totally embarrassing. She feels really badly for Brittany, Artie, Tina and anyone else who was actually in glee when Mr. Schuester led it, because now, they had to do the same lesson. Twice. Finn is totally unoriginal and not creative. But Sugar doesn't care about that most of the time, just today, because she can't stand this.

The only thing worse than humiliating herself once would be doing it twice. She waits until very last. Sugar hates this. Really hates it. There are a million things she _could _put on a shirt like this. Words and phrases come to mind easily: Stuck-up, Spoiled, No Asperger's, Can Sing, Intelligent…but Miss Pillsbury is totally on them about being honest and using this as a chance to open up to the rest of the club.

But what if Sugar doesn't want to open up? What if she likes the shallow image she's perfected, and feels a sense of safety inside its walls?

She waits until everyone leaves and then takes a deep breath, scribbling seven letters on a scrap of paper and shoving it at Miss Pillsbury.

Thankfully, she doesn't comment. She makes the shirt first, and then asks, gently, what Sugar's insecurity is, exactly.

"My name. It's Egyptian," she says, tipping her chin up to make her appear taller. It never works, but Sugar never fails to try.

"It's beautiful," Miss Pillsbury comments, and she seems like she means it.

"Can I make a back-up one, too?" Sugar asks, suddenly nervous.

"Of course," Miss Pillsbury smiles. "I did, too, my first time. My original shirt was going to say OCD, for Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, but at the last minute, I changed it to Ginger. I wasn't comfortable with being uncomfortable."

"Who is?" Sugar sighs, and is quiet for several minutes, waiting for Miss Pillsbury to create a shirt that reads **SPOILED** just in case Sugar needs it. "What do I do if people laugh?" she asks, letting her guard down just a little.

"Well, you can remember one thing: they're all going to be just as scared as you. They won't laugh. No one did last time."

There's something about the quiet that makes the walls around Sugar waver just a little. She takes a breath, and starts to speak.

"When I was a kid, after my mom left, my dad suddenly just…started calling me Sugar… When I asked him why, he said it made me sound 'less international' and made people want to treat me better. Legally changed it. We went to court and everything. My mom named me, and he was pissed at her, so…" she shrugs, her voice faraway and sad.

"So he took it out on you," Miss Pillsbury finishes.

"Yeah," Sugar nods.

"How do you feel about that?" she asks carefully.

Sugar shrugs. "Like he didn't love me the way I was. So he had to change me."

"That's how you think _he _felt. How do _you feel_?" Miss Pillsbury presses gently.

"I still feel like Shukura…" she admits, glancing down at the shirt she held in her hands and clutching it to her chest.

_The End._


	13. Vote

**Prompt: **Rock the Vote

**Character: **Santana

**Words: **700

Santana woke up nervous and excited on November 6th. It was a normal day in so many respects, but one that could change so much for her future - good or bad. Contrary to popular belief, Santana had always been into political stuff. Her parents talked to her about it from the time she was very young. How important it was to be informed, and make her voice heard. She even remembered badgering an older cousin into telling her who he voted for when she was ten, and when she found out it was the other guy, Santana told on him immediately. She had always been a little bit conniving.

But that was then. Now, it was her turn to stand in a ridiculously long line, which made her feel happier than she should've at 7:30 AM, and receive her own voting ballot. She found a table and looked everything over. Santana was not a careless voter. She considered everything. Voted in every category, because leadership mattered at every level, not just at the top.

When Santana was finished, she closed the manila folder and carried it to the machine that counted the ballots. She vigilantly slid hers inside, waiting to see proof that it was received. Then, Santana breathed a sigh of relief, and made her way outside.

She thought about all the ways her professors were trying to get the students to pay attention to elections and the issues. She thought about her Intro to Communications class where everybody had to give speeches about an issue featured in the voting over the past month. Most picked marriage equality. Most, in her class, at least, were "fine with things the way they were," or "believed marriage was between a man and a woman, and that our leadership should reflect that."

Even though she was nervous, Santana carefully outlined talking points for her speech. Half the class had already spoken. Not one person had argued in favor of marriage equality. She spoke with her mom and dad for more insight and to be sure she had all the important facts, and then, she'd gotten up, in front of everyone, and gave her speech. Most kids half-listened. The professor had a strange, involuntary look on her face, like she'd bitten into a lemon.

Santana took a deep breath, and finished, "Why does all of this matter to me? Because, just like all of you, I want to get married someday. _Legally_ married. I want to have children, and have the same rights to visit them my spouse or my child in the hospital when they're sick. I want the same thing everyone else wants. I want what most of you take for granted."

Flushed, Santana took her seat, realizing she'd just come out to probably an entire classroom of conservatives, but it hardly mattered. She had to make this as real for them as it was for her. But Santana believed in what she talked about. She'd been thorough. Her professor couldn't fail her for this. Still, kids glanced at her and whispered as they were leaving. Santana gathered up her bag and her jacket and headed for the door. In the hallway, one of her classmates was lingering.

"Listen, I normally hate politics, but I…I just wanted you to know that your speech…it changed my mind on a lot of things…" he confessed. "I'm going to vote differently because of you."

"Oh. Okay," Santana had managed.

It had been a weird moment. To hope for change, to put herself out there and then, to have it happen right in front of her. She hadn't been ready for it. But she had been happy.

So, weeks later, on a morning in November, as Santana pushed open the door and walked out into the sun. She sat down on a bench outside and texted Brittany and Finn in Lima, Rachel and Kurt in New York, Mercedes and Puck in LA, Mike in Chicago and Quinn in Connecticut the same message:

_Rock the vote today, guys. Miss you._

One by one, throughout the day, she heard from them, until all eight of them had responded. Each text read:

_I voted. Miss you, too._

_The End._


	14. Foreclosure

**Prompt: **First five words must be: "On a cold rainy night"

**Characters**: Sam & family

**Words: **502

On a cold rainy night in late April of Sam's sophomore year. That's when Sam knew something was seriously wrong. That's when he heard his parents fighting. It wasn't that they never fought. It was that they never fought in front of Sam or his brother and sister, loud enough that they could hear. Sam wasn't quite sure what was going on, but he heard his mom crying, and his dad speaking in short, clipped sentences, like he was losing his patience.

The next morning, there was a pounding on the door. There were strange people, and raised voices as his dad tried to reason, and then to fight whatever this was. Sam was in shock when the dudes in suits gave them told them to gather their belongings and get out.

His parents spoke to him quickly.

"Honey," his mom said. "It's going to be okay. But I need you to grab stuff for yourself, Stevie and Stacey. They're too little to know what to take."

"Your mom and I need to get the essentials," his dad put in. And Sam saw his mom putting pictures into boxes, his dad gathering official papers, an overnight bag with a few clothes.

"Where are we going?" Stacey asked, pulling on his hand as Sam took out her Hello Kitty backpack and started rolling clothes to put inside.

"On an adventure," Sam said, pasting a smile on his face that Stacey didn't buy for a second. "Don't worry. We're all going. Mommy and Daddy and me and Stevie and you. It's a game, all right? And it starts now. Get your most favorite thing from your room and take it with you."

Sam's heart ached as he watched his baby sister eye her possessions carefully and finally pick out the blanket that was frayed and torn, from five years of her dragging it everywhere.

"Got it!" she said, brightening.

Sam did the same with Stevie, packing his Spongebob overnight bag with clothes, both kids' toothbrushes, and pajamas. Everything that wouldn't fit in Stacey's bag. Sam watched as Stevie solemnly took his stuffed tiger off the bed, and gave a backward glance to his room, with books, Legos and toys he might never touch.

When time was up, they were kicked out. Just like that. At the last second, Sam reached for his guitar. Once the door was closed, Stevie lost it, and started screaming and yanking on the door. "This is _our house_! You can't _do this_!"

Their dad tried to deal with him, but Stevie was beyond warnings or consequences. His entire world had disappeared in less time than it took for Sam to walk him to school each morning. Seeing Stevie cry made Stacey cry, and yeah, Sam got choked up, too. Just like that, they'd lost everything.

He put his arms around his brother and sister. Sam felt his parents' arms come around them. Together, they held each other, and tried to figure out what they were going to do next.

_The End._


	15. Coffee

**Prompt: **Write a scene for one of your current or past fics that you were afraid to write.

**Characters: **Rachel & Beth. A follow-up to _About Beth_.

**Words: **1590

Rachel is in line at the Lima Bean purely out of desperation.

She has been awake for over eighteen hours, ever since she got the call that her dad had a heart attack. She caught the first flight back to Ohio from New York where she spent most of her time running lines and going on auditions. Rachel had been confident that by 34, she would have a successful career, a husband and a family. She had none of those things, actually. Correction, she has family. Her parents count. They'll always count. They are why she's in Ohio, waiting on crappy coffee on her way to the hospital to see her dad. Her daddy assured her he was fine, but who really knew? After all, Rachel clearly remembered Kurt's father's heart attack in high school. He hadn't been fine at all, at least not at first.

"Excuse me?" a voice behind her says.

Rachel automatically moves aside. Jet lag and exhaustion her only compass right now.

"I don't mean to bother you… It's just…I saw you come in and…you remind me of someone…"

At this, Rachel turns, and is face to face with a striking blonde young woman, around eighteen. She seems oddly familiar, but Rachel can't quite place her. "I'm sorry. Who do I remind you of?" she asks, curiosity getting the better of her.

"My mother…"

Rachel just stares, uncomprehending.

"I'm sorry, this must sound crazy. And I'm totally a jerk for not introducing myself. I'm-"

"-_Beth_?" Rachel gasps. She blinks once. Twice. But this isn't some figment of an overtired imagination. Beth is real.

"How do you know my name?" she asks warily, taking a step back.

"Is your mother Shelby Corcoran?" Rachel asks, to ease the way forward.

"Yes…" Beth answers, still suspicious.

"So is mine," Rachel answers.

* * *

"_You're _Rachel? Beth asks, incredulous. "I knew you looked like her, but… Oh, my God…you're like twins or something…"

Quickly, Rachel picks up her coffee and on impulse, she gets a table near the back, inviting Beth to join her. She remembers the promise she made to Noah nearly twenty years ago, to be there for Beth, if she ever had questions, or feelings about her adoption.

"So, you've seen my picture?" Rachel begins conversationally.

"Yeah. Mom has one. She keeps it in a drawer, but I saw it once. She told me about you. That she was young and couldn't keep you. That kind of thing. I'm so jealous that you look like her. I don't look like anyone in my family," Beth stirs her coffee and doesn't look up.

"You _do _actually," Rachel can't help saying. "You're a total giveaway for your mother and you smile just like your father."

Beth squints at her in a way that Rachel remembers as being distinctly Puckerman and lets go of her stir stick. "You know my parents?" she asks. "How?"

"I…went to school with them. We graduated high school together. We all sang in the glee club."

"What were they like? I mean…if you don't want to tell me, you don't have to…I've just always been curious."

Rachel gapes. It's not polite, but does Beth seriously not know anything about her background? How is this possible? "You don't know? Didn't your mother ever tell you?"

"I could never find the courage to ask…" Beth admits. "I didn't want to hurt her feelings. The only thing I know is that they were really young and couldn't support me. So they gave me up. I just turned eighteen, and I've always wanted to look for them, but I don't know if they want to hear from me after all this time. Do you remember their names? Anything?" Beth presses, her determination and her voice so much like Quinn's in that moment that Rachel shakes her head to clear it.

"Of course. Of course I do. Your father's name is Noah, and your mother's name is Quinn. You have his mannerisms and so much of you is like your mother, you have no idea."

"Really?" Beth asks, hope in her eyes.

"Do you want to see a picture?" Rachel asks. I think I have one of both of them, actually." Rachel clicks around on her phone until she finds what she is looking for and comes around the table to sit beside Beth. "This is our high school glee club the year it started. See, that's Quinn in the cheerleading uniform, and there's Noah back there."

"With the Mohawk?" Beth bristles. "You guys had some weird fashion back then."

But Rachel notices how gently Beth touches the screen. How she jumps when she realizes she has accidentally navigated away from the picture.

"I'm a huge disappointment to my mom," Beth sighs. "She wanted me to pursue the arts. Be on stage. But I don't have it in me. I'm not brave like that. I play music, but only in my bedroom, and I read a lot. I'm kind of a nerd. I bet she's proud of _you_, though… Mom…" Beth elaborates nodding at Rachel when confusion clouds her face momentarily. "You're doing everything she wants me to do. Must be in your genes or something. Nothing I do is right or enough. I know she loves me but I hate how hard she pushes."

"I'm sorry," Rachel shakes her head. "Hang onto the knowledge that she loves you, though, because she truly does. My dads love me more than life itself, even though I don't look like them or talk like them. And I know your mom does, too."

"Why are you being so nice to me?" Beth wonders, wiping her eyes, where tears have sprung suddenly. "If I were you, I'd hate me."

"Because, in a way, we're family. Because I made a promise to your father years ago, while we were still in school and you were still little, that if you ever wondered about anything, or had questions, I would be there for you."

"Mom said once that he was in jail," Beth mutters, biting her lip.

"He was," Rachel confirms regretfully. "We all make mistakes, Beth…" Rachel smiles slowly, as if at a memory. "You know he named you, right? Noah?"

"No," Beth looks surprised.

"It was in glee club, and we were in the middle of a lesson…I don't remember what it was about but we all looked ridiculous. He sang the Queen song, _Beth_, to your mother while she was still carrying you. He said, he knew they had to give you up but before they did he wanted to know if he could name you Beth."

"What was Quinn like?" Beth asked. "Mom said she got in some big wreck when I was a toddler and almost got paralyzed, because she wasn't driving responsibly or something? When Mom gets mad, she brings them up, but I don't know anything that matters."

Rachel cringes at the memory of the wedding that wasn't. Wishes Shelby could keep from badmouthing the people who gave her daughter life. As many mistakes as Shelby made, Rachel's parents never spoke a negative word about her. They were grateful to her. That's the way Rachel knows it should be. "The accident wasn't Quinn's fault," Rachel says firmly. "In high school, Quinn was popular. Pretty. Very smart. She always got straight As. When she was pregnant, she used to study out loud. Read to you from her biology or English textbooks. She wanted you to have a love of learning."

Beth listened with rapt attention.

"She had a lovely singing voice, so did Noah. She played piano and he played guitar. Once they did a duet when they were mad at each other. It was pretty funny," Rachel laughs at the memory. "She went to Yale, and Noah had his own business in LA for a while."

"They sound so…normal…and nice…" Beth muses.

"They _are_ normal and nice. They love you. They just couldn't take care of you." Rachel glances at her watch. "Shoot. I had no idea so much time had gone by. I'm so sorry, Beth, but I need to go. My dad's been sick and I'm in town to visit him." Rachel rushes, gathering her empty cup and standing to head for the door.

"Rachel, wait! Can you take a picture of us? You can send it to Quinn and Noah. Tell them I'm happy? Tell them thank you for having me?"

"Of course," Rachel manages around the lump in her throat. She comes around to stand next to Beth, and puts an arm around her. The camera flashes and they smile.

* * *

In the car, Rachel looks at the picture, at herself and Beth, who couldn't be more different if they tried. But for this one moment, they found each other. Rachel creates a new text, selects _Noah _and _Quinn_ from her contacts and sends this message:

_I ran into this stunning young woman at the Lima Bean, by chance. Your little girl is all grown up. She wanted me to take this picture of us together to send to you. She wants me to tell you she is happy. She says thank you for her life. _

Before Rachel sends it, she looks one more time at the faces in the picture - Beth's in particular. Her smile is so wide, it could light up the room. Braces glint on her teeth, giving away just how young she still is, and her eyes - still a little red-rimmed - crinkle at the corners.

It's amazing how much peace simple answers can bring.

_The End._


	16. Assignment

**Prompt: **If only I'd known then what I know now! (Write in first person…)

**Character: **Artie

**Words: **506

_If only I'd known then what I know now, _

_I would have walked everywhere, and never asked to be carried. I would have rolled down every single hill, even if there was a sidewalk at the bottom. I would have climbed a million trees. I would have learned karate. I would have ridden my bike until sunset every day, except in the winter. I would have run as fast as I could, just to feel the wind on my face. _

_I would have gotten a lot stronger. I would have enjoyed how easy getting dressed was. I would have told myself you are going to have to work hard one day, sooner than you think, so have a lot of fun now. _

_I would have danced every day, every hour, everywhere. I would have jumped really high a lot, just because I felt like it. I would have liked camping, the beach and going outside more. I would have appreciated standing up to reach stuff. _

_I would have been nicer to kids who are different so that kids would be nicer to me now. I would have talked to them, and not just to know if they needed help. I would have looked at them in the eyes, so they knew I could see them, so that maybe now, someone would see me. I would have never done something for them without asking if they wanted help first. I wouldn't ever push their chairs first. _

_I wouldn't make them only be scorekeeper in gym, I would find ways for them to play. I would let them get ribbons just like the rest of the class on Track and Field day, so maybe I could get ribbons and not just dumb stickers. I would not use their name in a spelling test sentence for the word DIFFERENT, because I would know they really felt the same inside. The same and different all at once, so they wouldn't need the teachers saying that. I wouldn't make kids in the class help unless they wanted to, because I would realize that it would make them mad and not want to be friends or be nice to them._

_I would have walked without shoes or socks in the grass more in the summer. Made more snow angels more in the winter, jumped in the leaves more in the fall, and puddles more in the spring. I would have stepped on and off a lot of curbs, just because I could. I would not have been too shy to take dance because I'm a boy and kids might tease me. I would have done it anyway, because I loved it. Because it was special to me._

_I would have understood that some things aren't forever. Like walking, and running and rolling down hills and playing outdoor games on grass. Like being treated like every other kid. _

_I would have done so much more of everything, and even then, I think, it would not have been enough._

By: Artie Abrams, age 8


	17. Love

**Prompt: **No one understood how they fell in love, but there was no denying that what they shared was untouchable.

**Characters: **Burt & Liz

**Words: **794

From the first time Burt Hummel laid eyes on Liz Landry in the fall of 1973, he had known he was going to marry her. At six years old, he never imagined the bumps along the way. He figured they'd grow up, get married and have kids. The first part happened. They dated all through high school, got married at eighteen and then found out Liz couldn't conceive, and no one knew why. He never imagined it would take ten years just to have one kid, but Kurt was worth it.

They were opposites in every way - Burt and Liz - and no one really got it. He was into cars and sports and the outdoors. She loved clothes, reading and staying in. She was sweet and kind. He was loud and brash. If he got bent out of shape over buying a car because he felt like he was being duped, Liz wasn't afraid to tell him that he was embarrassing her. She had an eye for detail, and he, for the big picture.

In a way, it was nice to have all those years as husband and wife. To get used to living in each other's space before they added a baby to the mix. But the more times Burt walked into the nursery they'd set up when they bought the house, and found Liz trying to pretend she wasn't crying about the lack of little feet running around the house…well…the more Burt wanted to fix it. And it took years, but somehow, they did.

Liz carried small, and wouldn't even tell the family until she was five months along, she was so worried she would jinx something. By then she'd named him - yes, _him_ - she'd already come home and painted nursery with blue and yellow bunnies in honor of the son she was sure they would have.

When they talked about names, she wouldn't discuss girl options.

"No. It's not going to be a girl, so why should we?" she used to say. "His name is Kurt, after his dad. I don't want him to be a junior. He has to be an individual, but someone who will consider others."

"Do I at least get to pick the middle name?" Burt had wondered.

"What did you have in mind?" she asked.

"What do you think about Eli, after your mom?" he had whispered to the baby in her stomach, and Kurt had kicked, strong and quick.

"I think that's a yes," Liz laughed. "He'll be the best of both of us."

In June of 1994, they became a family. For eight years, they enjoyed each day, watching Kurt grow and change, into exactly the kind of kid his mom said he'd be - and so much more. And it wasn't until after, that Burt found the baby book with two pages marked - one in the K's and one in the E's - and realized that Kurt's middle name was much more appropriate than he ever could have predicted.

Eli meant "to rise above." And Kurt, his sweet - and yes, courteous to a fault - little boy would have a lot to overcome. Just before Thanksgiving, 2002, Liz ran out for a gallon of milk. She slid on black ice and…she was just…gone…

They were the last two people anyone would have expected to love each other for almost 30 years, be happily married for 18, and proud parents for just 8 precious years. It didn't make sense…and it made total sense.

In the weeks and months to come, the house grew quiet, and Burt grew apart from his son, who reminded him of Liz in a million painful ways.

It's taken time, but he and Kurt have learned to live again. To honor the memory of the greatest woman in their lives. The little girl Burt met on the playground, the first girl he ever held hands with, dated, kissed, the first and only girl he ever _loved_ with his whole heart. The mother to his child, who always knew what to cook and what to do. Who knew years before Burt, how to accept everything that made Kurt who he was. Everything that made him special.

She was right, of course.

Sometimes - even when it felt all wrong - when he was lying next to Carole - Burt would think of Liz. Would feel her in his heart. And sometimes, he would see her when it felt excruciatingly right. In the way Kurt spoke, held his head, spoke his mind, or just the sparkle in those eyes that was distinctly like his mom.

It's taken years, but it's something Burt's come to realize over time: that any memory of Liz is a beautiful thing.

_The End._


	18. Reunion

**Prompt: **McKinley Reunion

**Characters: **Quinn, Puck, Beth & Rachel

**Words: **1,551

Three weeks before the 20th reunion of the McKinley High class of 2012, there was an even more significant reunion. One that took four years to come to fruition. They had taken tiny steps forward since that June day when Quinn and Noah first received the same text message from Rachel Berry, that pictured her, and a smiling Beth.

Quinn had mislaid her phone that day. She was in a rush. On her way out the door to yet another party, when the text came through and sent her looking. She found it in the bedroom, plugged in on the bedside table. The picture was there. _Beth _was there.

It stopped Quinn in her tracks.

The party of the evening forgotten, Quinn had simply sat and stared, awestruck, at the face of her daughter. At how happy she seemed. Living in Connecticut had been a strategic choice when she made it. So Quinn wouldn't risk accidentally running into Beth like Rachel had, in Lima.

After an hour passed, Quinn called Puck. They were rarely in touch, but all these years later, she found she could not bring herself to delete his number.

"Did you get the picture?" she asked, without preamble.

"Yeah," he said, sounding faraway. He was drunk, or on his way to drunk. "She's so damn big. You know what that means, don't you? Means we're getting old."

Quinn had hung up on him then. She'd been a friend from a distance when his younger brother Jake called, and asked about rehab programs for substance abuse.

"_Jake, listen to me. I love him, too. But you cannot help him with this. Tell him he knows how to use the phone. He knows how to use the computer. He has to get his own help, in order for it to stick."_

There had been a long pause, and then Jake had relented.

"_All right."_

That's when Quinn found out that in the years following graduation, Puck had been in a downward spiral. Arrested, for breaking and entering. Six months in jail. Half a dozen times in treatment over the past sixteen years.

Yet somehow, over the last four, Noah - because he went by Noah now - had managed to get his life together. For himself, not even for Beth, which was the way it needed to be. So that when Rachel called asking if they wanted to hear from Beth, she had said yes, and so had Noah. It had been tedious. Phone calls. Boundaries. Zero expectations. But they agreed that they were all adults and they needed to do this for themselves.

So, four years after the text that made Quinn reevaluate how she was living, and ended up doing the same for Noah - because he was now three years sober - and ready to make it with her.

They met at Breadstix, their old high school hangout. Quinn thought of Santana and Brittany - the only high school couple that made it. They were living in New York, raising five kids. Their oldest would graduate high school this year, the youngest was finishing kindergarten. She wondered what they would think about this. If they would be at the reunion next month, or if family life would keep them too busy…

Quinn's thoughts dropped off abruptly when she saw Noah walk in with no sunglasses. No telltale flush to his cheeks. He was here, and he was sober. He was keeping promises. It was a start.

"Hey," he said, looking her in the eye.

"Hi," she responded and was caught in that awkward space between wanting to shake his hand as an acquaintance and hug him as someone much more significant. They sat side by side, in a booth, accepting menus, but both too nervous to order anything.

"What if she doesn't like me?" Noah asked.

"She's talked to you on the phone already," Quinn reminded. "It's going to be fine."

It was just after 5 PM when the door opened and Rachel stepped in, with what could only be Beth, in tow. This had been agreed upon. Beth and Rachel had been in contact much more than the rest of them, and if it made Beth comfortable, that's all that mattered. Quinn's heartbeat sped up, and she couldn't help herself. She stood. Noah, did, too.

Finally, Beth emerged from behind Rachel and Quinn's heart skipped a beat. God, she was beautiful. It made Quinn's heart ache, but she kept her emotions close, and remembered all she had read about reuniting with a child who had been adopted. Even a grown child. Quinn knew she and Noah were virtual strangers to Beth, even though she had had a place in their hearts for nearly 22 years.

"Hello," she said, extending a hand. "I'm Quinn. It's so nice to meet you."

Beth's eyes welled with tears. "You're so young, just like Rachel…" she breathed, clearly overwhelmed. Then, she spotted Noah, over Quinn's shoulder. "I'm so glad you could make it," Beth told him honestly.

"Me, too. It's good to see you," he managed, his voice thick.

Quinn and Rachel embraced briefly, and Quinn whispered, "Thank you for being with her for this. It means a lot."

"Of course," Rachel nodded.

They sat down, Rachel and Beth on one side of the booth, Quinn and Noah on the other side.

Conversation was stilted and awkward, but Rachel did her very best to keep it flowing with stories of New York, the show she was starring in, and how she occasionally saw Santana, Brittany and any number of their kids. Soon they were laughing, but Quinn still found herself listening more than talking. She couldn't get enough of hearing Beth's voice.

With Rachel's urging, Beth grew more comfortable and began to share about herself and her life. She was a teacher at a local elementary school, married to a great guy and…

"_And…_I have a surprise for both of you…" Beth grinned, punching a few buttons on her phone.

Quinn almost missed it. Then, her attention was drawn to the door of the restaurant, to the little blur who ran in holding the hand of a man, who was smiling.

"Quinn. Noah. I'd like you to meet my husband, Chris, and our son, Luke," she introduced, scooping up the little boy. "Luke, these are some new friends. That's Rachel, Quinn and Noah, can you say hi?" Beth introduced.

At the same time, Noah was muttering under his breath. "Holy shit. We're grandparents at 38. I just met my _daughter _and my _fu_-"

"Noah, for God's sake," Quinn hissed.

"-my _freaking grandson_, on the same _freaking _day," Noah continued, awed.

"Hi, Luke! How old are you?" Rachel asked.

"Free," he said seriously, holding up three fingers with determination.

"Beth," Quinn asked, nodding in her direction and then away from the table.

Following curiously, Beth tailed Quinn outside.

"I just want to let you know that I love you," Quinn blurted, tears springing to her eyes. "I love you and I'm _so sorry_. I was so screwed up then. I wasn't old enough to be a mom."

"Quinn, it's okay," Beth said, cutting her off by taking her hand. "Yeah, I was confused for a while growing up. And not knowing about you was hard. But it was right to wait until I was old enough to find out, because now I can understand it. I'm a mom, too. And I can't imagine what it was like to make that decision, but I don't blame you and I don't blame Noah. I'm just glad we could do this. I hope we can get to know each other better."

"I'm sorry," Quinn managed again.

"I'm not," Beth told her, calm and sure. "Adoption's not a cure-all, and it's not perfect. But it gave me the only life I knew, and I'm grateful."

Quinn tried to relax. She took a deep breath, not knowing what to say to this self-assured, composed, kind, beautiful young woman. Finally, she settled on, "How's your mom with Luke?"

"Oh, God," Beth laughed, and it sounded like music. "She says she's not old enough to be a grandma, so she makes him call her G."

"_She's _not old enough!" Quinn scoffed, laughing.

"I know. It's weird," Beth confirmed. "Well, we should get back in there."

Quinn was surprised - more than a little - to see Noah with Luke and a guitar balanced on his lap. "You wanna sing to Mommy? Yeah?" he asked, as Rachel and Chris looked on curiously.

"He had it in the car," Rachel whispered.

"Beth, I, uh…wanted to tell you something…but I've never really been good with words. I heard this…at a program I went to once," he said and began to play the opening chords of a song from twenty years ago.

As he sang, Noah looked Beth in in the eye. Even though Quinn didn't know the words, she caught on quickly and began to sing, too. Rachel was admirably silent. And when they were done, Luke, Chris, and Rachel applauded. Beth came around the table, wrapping her arms around their necks.

"Sorry if that embarrassed you," Noah apologized. "We've got quite a few years of embarrassing you to catch up on, though."

"I don't mind," Beth managed, through tears.

_The End._

**A/N: The song Puck sings is Family Tree by Matthew West.**


	19. Sisters

**Prompt: **It was hate at first sight.

**Characters: **Kitty & Bristol Wilde

**Words: **600

Let's just put it out there: Kitty sucks as a big sister.

She was six when her parents brought baby Bristol home, and Kitty immediately started thinking of ways to get rid of her. She was old enough to know her parents still loved her, too, but that wasn't the problem. The problem was, Kitty liked being an only child. She liked having all the attention. The problem was, the baby didn't take a hint.

Now, ten years later, Bristol is, like, this totally cool kid. Not that Kitty will ever admit that, but she is. She's, like, this little rebel. Straight as a rail, no curves anywhere, could do anything she wanted, and what did she do? Her last time at the salon, she asked for her hair to be cut as short as possible.

"Are you _trying_ to get beat up?" Kitty hissed. Because, seriously, fifth graders can be brutal.

But Bristol just stares at her calmly and says, "No."

"Are you trying to make me look bad?" Kitty demands.

"Why would _my _haircut make you look bad?" she asks, not flinching. Not even with an attitude.

"Why are you doing this?" Kitty insists.

"Because I feel like it…and because long hair feels weird on my neck," she shrugs.

Kitty holds her breath. She watches tons of blond hair fall to the salon floor and cringes. When she finally sees her sister, Kitty can't help the remark that comes out. Her little sister, straight as a pencil, who only wears blue jeans and tee shirts and has no interest in makeup. "You look like a boy."

"So?" Bristol shrugs. "Boys are nice."

They're in the car and Kitty's driving them home when she almost apologizes. She should be looking out for her baby sister, not making fun of her, she knows that. It's just so hard when she does things that intentionally draw a target on her back.

'Kitty? Are you mad at me?" Bristol asks.

"Yeah, kind of," Kitty admits. "Kids are gonna make fun of you and I'm not gonna be there to beat them up for you."

"It's okay to be different," Bristol says in that maddeningly matter-of-fact way she has.

"Yeah, well, I'm not as brave as you," Kitty mumbles.

"You could be," Bristol shrugs, "if you wanted."

"Maybe I like the way I am," Kitty insists.

"That's a lie. You're not happy. You make other people feel awful so you can feel better inside. That's not _happy_, that's a bully. Maybe you should try being nicer to people. Maybe they'll be nice to you back."

"Yeah, and if the world were made of candy and magic, we could eat it all and never gain weight. Stop talking now," Kitty snaps, her eyes on the road.

Silence fills the car. Regret finally wins out over the need to always have the last word. The truth is, Bristol's the only one who will call Kitty out on the crap that she does to other people. It makes her stop and think. She's not gonna change overnight or anything, but Kitty was raised knowing that family is everything and sisters took care of each other. She just never really got that last part.

"I'm sorry. I'll try to be nicer, okay?" Kitty promises.

Bristol keeps her eyes straight ahead until Kitty elbows her lightly.

"Hey? You wanna know a secret?" Kitty pesters using her best juicy gossip voice.

"Sure," Bristol smiles, and it lights up her face. She looks kind of cute with short hair.

"When I grow up, I want to be just like you."

_The End._


	20. Club

**Prompt: **Secret Society

**Characters: **Blaine & Santana (set in the You Don't Even Know universe)

**Words: **529

Blaine obviously isn't supposed to talk about it. So, he doesn't. But he thinks about it. All the time. How the need inside him to fight started way before he was beaten after the Sadie Hawkins dance. It started when he was diagnosed with cancer in third grade, and had felt unable to truly fight anything for fourteen months.

Try feeling powerless for that long. Of course there were social workers that talked to him. He got beads for going through any number of procedures. But ask any kid - ask any _person_ - and they'll tell you that it's not exactly a fair trade.

Even all these years later, he's not out of the woods. He was only officially considered cured at fourteen. Just in time for the Sadie Hawkins nightmare. It's been three years. Still, he's not naïve enough to think it's over, just like that. Cooper had a friend who had cancer as a kid, and then got other cancer when she grew up, which she didn't survive. A teenage acquaintance had some kind of brain bleed a few years after they finished chemo. So, Blaine knows, he is still living on borrowed time.

It doesn't make sense, logically, but it doesn't have to. Blaine wants to be in control of something in his life. He wants to feel alive, and he wants to have some power over his environment. Is that so wrong? It doesn't seem like it to him. Consenting kids with a secret agreement, secret details, secret everything. It looks random, but that's all part of it.

When Santana approaches him at Dalton and just blurts it out in the middle of campus, Blaine almost has a heart attack.

"Jeez, Santana! Have you ever heard of a sacred oath?"

"A sacred oath? Are you serious? A little dramatic, don't you think. So, can I join, or what?"

"It's a Dalton branch," Blaine said bitterly. "You have to be a Dalton student. Who told you, anyway?"

"Finn."

"Of course. Finn," Blaine sighs. He knew he shouldn't have said anything in the locker room. This was going to be all over McKinley soon, and then Blaine would be expelled."

"So, I can't join." Santana says, crossing her arms.

"No, you can't," Blaine whispers. "And I'd appreciate it if you didn't continue to talk about it."

"If I was a dude, you'd let me join," Santana argued, keeping pace with him.

"If you were a _dude_, you wouldn't be having this conversation with me," he said carefully.

"You are seriously pissing me off, Wonder Twin. All I want is to kick some ass. Just like you. Don't make me beg, for real. It's so beneath me."

Blaine didn't say anything.

"What do you want? Test answers? Money? What?"

"Wow, you're really desperate, aren't you?" Blaine asked, impressed. He waited until they were out the doors and off school grounds before he said, "Follow me to Westerville now. Two hours. Don't ask questions. First rule of fight club? Don't talk about it."

Santana smiled and doubled back to the parking lot, looking forward to having a plan, but more than that? Looking forward to having some power.

_The End._


	21. Cliffhanger

**Prompt: **Write a cliffhanger.

**Character: **Quinn

**Words: **570

It isn't as if she can see it coming.

It isn't as if she can stop it from _being_.

The fact is, this is her life. It's not how she planned it. Still. It is what it is. Her life is like an echocardiogram printout of an unstable cardiac patient. Full of spikes and dips. First, the slow ascent from Lucy to Quinn. From overweight girl, to it girl. From couch potato to dancing queen. Then the rapid descent, from head cheerleader to whore. From whore, to birth-mother, to no mother at all.

Maturing happened slowly. It had jagged edges. It came with mistakes. Pink hair dye. Piercings. Tattoos. Cigarettes. And the one everyone forgets about. That forty-year-old skateboarder she dated over the summer before her senior year. She started climbing again, first by faking it. As it turns out, an ulterior motive is better than no motive at all. She tries talking to Shelby. Tries seeing Beth. But it hurts too much.

It's hard enough getting the damn letters every year. The twelve pictures detailing each new milestone Quinn hasn't been there to see. So, she pours herself into schoolwork, when she realizes that all is not lost. Not really.

And by some miracle, Yale takes her.

Then there is February. The car accident. The fear. The pain. The rehab. The loathing. The everything. But again, Quinn manages to get up, and begin again. As hard as it is, she keeps moving forward.

Yet somehow, it seems that each positive step inevitably leads to a subsequent mistake. And each mistake pushes her closer and closer to an edge she does not want to be near. She doesn't, but she does. Because, deep down, she just wants to _feel something_.

It makes her remember Bible camp as a little girl. How the counselors would talk about God laying boundaries and guidelines for everyone's safety - not so that they could get as close to the line as humanly possible. Likewise, having free will did not mean treating yourself like crap. _Your body is a temple…You are that temple…_

But what kind of temple is a broken vessel?

Quinn cringes, remembering the sting of Santana's hand against her cheek - the shock in her own after she'd struck Santana. The truth is, she lashed out because Santana knew too much.

She knows Quinn never visits Beth. She knows Quinn is basically a New Haven slut. Basically. Except it's an act. She sleeps with that professor because she needs someone, somewhere to fill her loneliness, and nothing, so far, has seemed to work. He needs a warm body. A pretty face. And she will be that. She will be that if it kills her.

Because Quinn Fabray is all about pushing things. Limits and edges and expectations. For better or worse. This is what Quinn does.

It's why she would rather put herself in danger than be forced to choose between two people she loves more than life itself, and for the life of her, she doesn't know why. Her mother. And her dad. Her dad, who left. Who hates her. Disowned her. Never came when she was in the accident.

She has to find love somewhere.

So she walks out to the edge, and clings to it. To a man, in a bed, in New Haven.

She prays for the strength to, someday, save herself. To someday, rise from these depths.

_The End._

**A/N: Thanks to Melissa Motown for this prompt. Be sure to check out prompts by the other talented ladies this week (you can find them all in my favorites.)**


	22. Five

**Prompt: **You are the average of the five people you spend the most time with.

**Characters: **Santana, Brittany and family.

**Words: **611

Santana Lopez and Brittany Pierce were the last glee club couple standing. (Who would have thought, right?) They'd moved to New York, and were now the parents of five amazing boys. Hani was the oldest at eighteen, Galen was fourteen, Ethan was ten, Jayden was eight and Ori, their youngest, was five. They gave and got in equal measure and Santana and Brittany couldn't imagine things happening any differently. Even on a Saturday in June, some twenty years after graduating from McKinley High, when all five were bored, and talking at once. Ori, in particular, had a talent for being as loud as possible, in order to be heard over his brothers.

From each of their sons, Santana and Brittany absorbed something different, something they would not have otherwise possessed. From Hani, Santana learned to fight proactively, and Brittany learned to face the sadness in life. From Galen, Brittany came to apply herself and Santana, about quiet strength. From Ethan, Santana learned patience in spades and to think outside the box, while Brittany learned to prioritize what truly needed attention versus what could wait. From Jayden, they learned what genuine gratefulness was. And from Ori, their youngest, they learned to love, without reservation or condition.

Now, he was running around the living room, insisting, "Let's go love-bomb Rachel Berry!"

"Why don't you love-bomb Mommy?" Santana asked, snuggling Ori in Brittany's lap.

"Because, I'd rather love-bomb Rachel Berry. 'Cause, you know, _she's _in New York, and _we're_ in New York. And she probably misses me, too, besides," Ori explained, his brown eyes shining and his dark hair flying in every direction. "Oh. But don't worry. I still love you, Mommy," he said, kissing Brittany's cheek.

"Who told you about Rachel Berry?" Santana asked, laughing.

"I did," Ethan said, distracted in front of the computer. "Some lady named Quinn called about a reunion. She said Rachel would be there and asked if you and Mommy would be, too."

"She's famous in plays like Hani's in plays," Jayden pointed out.

"When was this?" Brittany wondered.

Ethan glanced at his watch, as if he could divine the answer from it. "Nine days ago."

"And when was the reunion?" Santana quizzed.

"A week ago," Ethan filled in.

"And you didn't think that was something we'd want to know?" Santana asked, keeping her tone light. There was no way she or Britt could have gotten away for that anyway.

"She didn't say she wanted to leave a message," Ethan shrugged.

"I can take him to Rachel's," Galen offered in his quiet way.

"You can't drive,' Jayden interjected snickering.

"You guys, you don't even know Rachel," Brittany pointed out. "Besides I don't even know if she's home."

"Yes, we do," Jayden nodded. "I called and a lady answered and I asked if it was Rachel Berry and she said it was."

Santana bit back any commentary she had about harassing people. It felt oddly right that twenty years later, her kids could still give Berry a hard time. Even if their only real intent was to love the crap out of her.

"_I'll _take him," Hani announced good-naturedly, scooping Ori out of Brittany's lap. "I want to pick Rachel's brain anyway about auditions out here and stuff."

"Sounds good. Be safe. Both of you come back in one piece!" Santana called.

"I'm coming, too!" Jayden exclaimed at the last second.

"Me, too!"

"If you're going, I'm going…"

Santana sighed. "Fine. We're all going." Berry probably has a Lopez-Pierce love-bomb coming her way anyway. "All right, everybody load up! Let's go."

She and Brittany threaded their fingers together and smiled - their five rambunctious boys underfoot - feeling utterly complete.

_The End._


	23. Imagine

**Prompt: **Can you imagine…

**Characters: **Berry family

**Words: **1,112

From the moment Hiram lays eyes on LeRoy, he knows LeRoy is the one. He also knows, in the way people know deep and sacred things, that their road won't be easy. But it will be worth it.

Hiram is 23 and LeRoy is 18 when they first meet at a mutual friend's party in 1975. They spend years as friends, and that's just fine by Hiram. Good things come to those who wait. He just never imagined the wait would be so long. Ten years pass, and they move in together. They are in love. They are everything the other needs, or so they think. When LeRoy brings it up on a spring day in 1985, Hiram's heart skips a beat.

"Can you imagine…" he asks between kisses, "how perfect our family would be…if we had a baby?"

It's the winter of 1990 when Hiram runs into James Cohen and his wife at the local synagogue. Hiram has honed his hearing and reacts viscerally when he hears the word adoption. He seizes on it. "I've been looking into adoption myself," he says smoothly.

"Oh, you have?" James is warm and open. He seems pleased to have a kindred spirit on this journey.

"Yes, but I'm afraid I don't know of too many resources…" he admits.

Just like that, Hiram is supplied with the names of half a dozen places. One, in particular, a Jewish agency, speaks to him. So, he makes in appointment, with LeRoy's blessing, and begins the biggest charade of his life. He and LeRoy have agreed. The only way to adopt - and the best way to guarantee approval - is for Hiram to negotiate this. As a single, straight man.

He feels a pang as he goes through meetings alone, and as the process moves along. When Hiram has completed orientation, training and interviews, and they are officially at the next phase, Hiram comes home with a heavy heart. He should be ecstatic. However he cannot muster anything above an ache at the thought of the love of his life moving out, so they can have a chance at being a family someday. Having the home study means this is about to become a painful reality.

Hiram comes home to find LeRoy's suitcases already packed. His side of the closet empty - any and all vestiges of his presence simply gone. It brings a lump to Hiram's throat, and they hold each other that last night, not knowing when they might get to do so, here, again.

They keep in touch by phone only. Hiram listens to LeRoy recount his day and his chest aches. Sometimes, he isn't sure if this will be worth it. If their relationship is fractured beyond repair, what good will it do for them to pursue this at all? But LeRoy just listens, wise beyond his years. He reads from a journal he is keeping, in lieu of letters. They won't risk anything that might give Hiram away at this point. So, instead, Hiram listens to LeRoy's melodic voice, as he reads from those precious pages how much he loves Hiram. How much he already loves their baby. Sometimes, they fight. Sometimes, LeRoy admits, "I'm so jealous that you get to be the baby's father," in a quiet regretful tone, "but I know this is the only way."

It isn't as if Hiram hasn't considered these things. What if their child gets hurt and Hiram is at work and cannot get away. What if Hiram or their baby required hospitalization? LeRoy wouldn't be Hiram's husband and he would have no legal rights whatsoever to the baby.

But sometimes, they talk about other things. Names. They are on the phone, both watching the first episode of a new TV show, _Friends, _when the last main character arrives. She's not perfect, but cute as a button, a little neurotic, and entirely endearing.

"What about Rachel?" they ask simultaneously, and Hiram smiles, feeling sure, despite years of living apart, that this will work out.

Hiram doesn't speak about Shelby Corcoran, the teenage girl, who is looking into letting him adopt her child. She's due in December, on Christmas Day. He doesn't let himself think about how lonely the holidays will be if this falls through. No baby and no LeRoy would be too much to bear.

But after four years of waiting, the day finally arrives. He and LeRoy have been devouring What to Expect When You're Expecting if only to be kept up to date on the baby's growth and development. Last night, they were up late trying to catch up on "Chapter 14: The Ninth Month."

Hiram's pager goes off at 2 a.m. and he nearly takes off for the hospital without pants. He pages LeRoy to let him know, and then he's off to wait. Twelve hours later Baby Girl Corcoran is born. She is perfect. Shelby insists Hiram hold the baby first. December 18th, 1994, Hiram Berry becomes a father.

Two days later, she's released with a clean bill of health. While Hiram's been gone, LeRoy has been busy. There are balloons and banners, flowers on the table. The nursery is done in shades of pink and yellow - a job Hiram hadn't been able to complete alone. The next day, Hiram gets the official word. Shelby has surrendered her parental rights to the agency. Now, it's simply paperwork and court dates to make everything official.

LeRoy visits, and he - not Hiram - is the only one who can calm Rachel with Barbra Streisand's _Happy Days Are Here Again_. When Hiram tries, Rachel just cries harder, but Hiram doesn't mind. He just calls LeRoy.

"Rachel misses you," he says in a sympathetic tone, because it's 3:57 a.m. and LeRoy has to be up in two hours for work.

"Oh," LeRoy sighs happily. "I miss you, too," he says, and then, effortlessly, falls into song.

This is their life, for six long months. In June of 1995, Hiram appears in court and finally, _finally_, everything is official.

The best part, though, is coming home and finding LeRoy parked down the block. Waiting for them to get home. Waiting for them to be a family again. Rachel is a naturally loud baby, but Hiram doesn't mind a bit. She squeals and lunges at LeRoy.

"Well, I guess we know who she has wrapped around her little finger," Hiram smiles, moving in for a kiss.

"I guess we do," LeRoy returns, his tone soft and awestruck, as Rachel puts her head on his shoulder, perfectly content.

That night, LeRoy moves back in, and for the first time in years, they all sleep soundly.

_The End._

**A/N: Special thanks to GleekMom for all her insight on some of the finer points of the adoption process. Your input was invaluable.**


	24. Window

**Prompt: **What happens when all of the current and former members of New Directions attend Will and Emma's wedding on Valentine's Day?

**Characters: **Ryder & Betty

**Words: **726

"_Ryder. There you are. I need to ask you a huge favor…"_

That's how it started. How the rehearsal dinner for Mr. Schuester and Miss Pillsbury's wedding went from him going over the songs the club was going to sing at the reception, to taking over for Finn, singing the song for the bride and groom's first dance. Finn, for some reason, couldn't do it. So that meant Mr. Schuester - a guy Ryder legitimately barely knew - asked him to sing some foreign song. Because he and Finn had a similar range.

It didn't matter that Ryder could barely read English. It didn't matter that Finn had obviously made a commitment and was backing out of it. He hadn't even shown up tonight. Ryder didn't know what was up with that, but he didn't have time to worry about that. He had to figure out a way to learn this music.

So while everyone else was hanging out at dinner afterward, Ryder was squinting at sheet music, willing the words to make sense. Willing _any of it_ to make it sense.

"Bride or groom's side?" an unfamiliar voice asked. He glanced up and saw her smiling at him. It almost made him forget about being stressed out.

"Uh. Groom's, I guess… I'm Ryder. Nice to meet you," he introduced, extending a hand.

"Betty," she returned easily. Leaning over, she studied the papers in front of him, her eyebrows furrowed. "Wasn't someone else supposed to perform this?"

"Yeah, I thought so, too," Ryder sighed. "But it turns out _I've _gotta learn this in less than twenty-four hours."

"Why is that?" Betty asked, her chin resting on her hand.

"Because Mr. Schuester said… But," Ryder lowered his voice as Mr. Schuester and Miss Pillsbury passed by. "I don't know whatever language this is…so that's gonna complicate my learning this even more than it is already."

"So, sing something else," Betty suggested.

"I'd love to, but Mr. Schuester says it has to be this song, for Miss Pillsbury's sake. That she needs everything to be perfect tomorrow. This is impossible. I can't do this."

"No," she shook her head, her voice firm. "The only thing you can't do is give up. So, let's figure this out. If learning a new song the night before and adding an unexpected performance is too much, you need to figure out how to make it work for you. Take it from someone who's performed at tons of these things. Pick a song you know by heart. A song that suits the moment, and do that."

"But Miss Pillsbury…"

"Let me tell you something about _Miss Pillsbury_," Betty said, teasing him gently. "How long have you known her?" Betty smiled in that way that made Ryder forget everything he was supposed to be doing. He couldn't even eat the pizza in front of him.

"Uh…I don't know. A couple of months? She's the guidance counselor at my school…"

"How long has Will known her?" Betty wondered.

Ryder shrugged. "I think they met the year he took over glee club, so…three years?"

"Okay. I've known her my whole life." She laughed at Ryder's confused expression. "Emma's my aunt. Trust me when I say, it's better to rely on a song she's not expecting but one you know well instead of stressing yourself out trying to do something that won't work for you. Will gave this performance to you, so he has to trust you, right?"

"I guess…"

"Emma will love that you did your best. That's all that matters to her. Trust me," Betty smiled, and reached into her purse. "Here," she said, taking out her I-Pod. "Look through this. See if anything sounds good."

"You wanna help?" he asked, offering her an ear bud and taking one for himself.

They listened in silence, until an unexpected title caught his eye. He highlighted it and waited, singing softly, shocked when Betty joined in on the harmony.

"Emma loves this song already," Betty offered, her eyebrows raised hopefully.

"You want to sing it together?" he asked. "I'd feel better if I wasn't the only one onstage making a fool of myself."

"Sure. Sounds like fun," she agreed. "Let's go practice. There's a unisex bathroom," she said, turning and leading the way.

"Awesome. Our voices will totally rock in there."

"Totally," she echoed, taking his hand.

_The End._

**The song Ryder and Betty find to perform at the wedding is Higher Window by Josh Groban.**


	25. Reason

**Prompt: **DM the person who prompts after you your LEAST favorite relationship pairing. Take that pairing and make them fall in love with it.

**Characters: **Sam & Santana

**Words: **544

Ten weeks. That's how long they date. Not really that long. It's weird. Not like dating Quinn. But Sam is a firm believer that everything happens for a reason. So, this should have a reason, too.

He tries taking Santana hunting. Tries doing Aerosmith songs to impress her, but none of it works the way Sam imagines it. The whole thing seems kind of doomed from the start. Whenever he tries to talk to her about anything that matters, she starts kissing him. So, they make out a lot. They're in the back of her car when she whispers Spanish in his ear for the first time and it makes him all tingly.

Except when his brain catches up with his body and he recognizes what she's really saying. It's not any cool compliments about his body or how good a kisser he is, it's negative stuff. Negative stuff about _her_. He's no language expert, but he's a great reader of faces. Hers is so sad. He learns the Spanish word for 'hate' by the look she gets in her eyes when she says it.

For a while, he lets it go, too stunned to do anything. But eventually, Sam can't help but say something back. He doesn't tell her what he told Quinn. Compliments won't do anything for her. So instead, he whispers back, "I see you," in Na'vi.

Santana pulls back and her eyes flash dangerously. He repeats himself, in what he hopes is a calming, gentle voice. To let her know she doesn't have to be so down on herself. To let her know that Sam gets that she's not into this. That she destroys things because it's how she copes, not because she's a terrible person. She eyes him suspiciously and then lowers her mouth to his again. She doesn't talk anymore that day. They kiss, and that's it, and it's totally mindless.

The irony of it is if anyone on the outside heard the way they talk, they'd probably be into it, because they'd think it's hot. But they can't see the look in Santana's eyes, when she says all that Spanish. And they can't see the look in his, when he decides to answer back in Na'vi that he's afraid he's losing himself. That he's spiraling. The look in his eyes that makes Santana's soften for a split second. Like she gets him. Totally. In these moments, in the back of a steamy car, they connect. It's not about the kissing. It's about having the freedom to say what they have to. Things are rough in English. She insults him a lot. He can never say exactly what he means to say, because none of the English words go deep enough.

And maybe that's the point of these ten weeks. That they're there for each other in ways others can't be. He gets what it's like to be angry at everything and she understands completely about the spiraling. For these ten weeks, they give each other something to hold onto. Solid ground. And a common language to speak whatever truth they've each needed to speak for so long. Even if that language isn't English. Even if that language isn't the same.

Even if that language is a code.

_The End._


	26. Door

**Prompt: **Dalton has an unexpected school-wide lockdown during Warbler rehearsal and the boys cannot leave.

**Words: **880

**Characters: **Kurt & Blaine.

When Kurt heard the sounds they were distant and common, like rocks hitting the window. It would have seemed normal. Kurt wouldn't have worried. But he knew that sound. He'd been hunting with his father in seventh grade, mostly because Kurt hadn't wanted to stay home alone. Suffice it to say that the crack of live gunshots was something Kurt hadn't forgotten in the ensuing years.

He was already looking for a place to take cover, knowing there was no time to waste. In the next breath, there was an announcement about some kind of code with a color attached. That was all he'd needed to hear. In the next second, he'd grabbed Blaine's hand, and pulled both of them into the nearest room. It wasn't a room, as it turned out, but a supply closet. Cramped and dark. Kurt didn't think, he just felt around for anything he could use to barricade the door. He felt for a lock, and turned it.

He heard his dad's voice in his head. He'd been five years old, and there had been a story on the news and he'd asked about it then. What if it happened to him when he went to high school?

"_Kurt, if that ever happens to you, I want you to do whatever you need to do to come home safely._"

Protocol was to go into the nearest classroom, but that was all the way at the other end of the hall, in the direction of the noise. So, he and Blaine would stay here. Without speaking, they braced their own weight against the door. Then, they sat, their hands clasped tightly, and waited.

Blood rushed in Kurt's ears. He wished he could see Blaine, but it was too dark, and light would attract whoever was doing this. The fire alarm screeched and Kurt jumped, his ears aching. Blaine squeezed his hand.

Kurt shut his eyes and bowed his head - not praying - but thinking of his mom. If she was anywhere out there in the universe right now she had to know this was happening, and damn it, he needed her. He heard her voice, albeit more distant than his father's.

"_If you're anywhere thinking of me, know that I'll always be somewhere thinking of you._"

He thought of her as hard as he could. Not daring to speak. Or whisper. Or breathe.

The door at their backs rattled, and Kurt forced Blaine's fingers open, in a rough and desperate movement. Against Blaine's open palm, Kurt placed his own hand, middle two fingers folded down, the rest extended, in the sign he remembered from _Sesame Street_. The one that meant 'I love you.'

In the darkness, Blaine moved Kurt's hand to his own face, so Kurt could feel him nod. So Kurt could feel the tears on his face. A paralyzing panic settled into Kurt's entire body and he couldn't function. He thought of ridiculous things because he absolutely could not cope with what was going on right now.

He thought of the lyrics to _Hey, Soul Sister_. Thought of the 6 a.m. Warbler's practice he had just come out of before all of this started. Lost himself in reciting the counts for choreography in his head.

When he stopped concentrating on that, Kurt became aware of Blaine's sweaty palm in his. Aware of how the time passed with an agonizing slowness. Kurt was sure his ears were bleeding. Fire alarms were meant to drive people _from _a building, not engaged when people were trapped inside one.

Minutes. Hours? There was no way to know how long they were in that closet. In that state of sheer panic. But when the doorknob was jiggled a second time, Kurt's heart seized in his chest. He gripped Blaine's hand and tried to swallow down his fear, pushing against the door with everything he had. Beside him, Kurt knew Blaine was doing the same.

He was, but it wasn't helping. In seconds, the door gave, and the two of them were pushed to one side, between the door and the wall. And even though Kurt remembered what his dad said about coming home safely, he didn't think before he covered Blaine with his own body.

Harsh light filtered in from the hall, silhouetting the large men with imposing weapons. There wasn't time to do anything. Kurt couldn't scream, he just tensed, feeling Blaine's body shaking beneath his own.

It took too long for it all to make sense. For the men to turn around and point to the letters on their backs, identifying them as S.W.A.T.

Numbly, Kurt stood, still holding tightly to Blaine. Though Kurt's ears were ringing, he was able to figure out the directions they were given.

Look straight at their backs. Nowhere else. Once they arrive at the front doors of Dalton, put their hands on their heads, fingers interlaced. First Blaine. Wait two seconds. Then Kurt.

When they were out, Kurt found Blaine's hand again, and they ran. They ran until Kurt couldn't anymore. Until he got a stitch in his side and stopped abruptly. Until he vomited onto the grass.

And Blaine was there. His hand like a claw, around Kurt's own.

And they were together.

And they were so, so separate.

_The End._


	27. Phases

**Prompt: **Season 1. Set whatever you write between May 19, 2009 and June 8, 2010.

**Characters: **Ryder & Joe.

**Words: **613

Phases hurt. Because they mean pretending to be something you're not. Not even close. But Ryder has been pretending for so long that he can't remember when it started. Maybe it was that day in first grade when he read sight words by listening to other kids reading them first. Or figured out what a story said by the pictures around it. Maybe it was that, no matter how hard he tried, Ryder consistently spelled his own name redyR, so often that he made a joke out of it. Acted like he meant to do it. But he hadn't. Not really.

Now, six years later, Ryder is in the seventh grade. He is just as lost. But he doesn't let on to anyone. At home, he studies his hardest, but it never helps. His dad tries to help, when he's home. His mom tries to keep him on track. His older sister, Rosie, who's a senior, labeled his folders for him at the beginning of the year, totally buying his excuse that "her handwriting was better than his." He wished he could read the positive things she wrote about him for his teachers, about what his strengths were.

Now, the year is almost over. He has Cs in almost everything. An F in reading. An A in choir. While other kids are getting paid off for their good grades, and making the honor roll, Ryder is just hoping to pass, and be allowed in eighth grade next year.

When he's home with his sister, sometimes she lets him go outside and blow off steam with his friends. Him and a bunch of the neighborhood kids play airsoft together. One day, there's a new guy. He sticks in Ryder's mind because his hair is like a Jamaican except he looks mostly white. He's soft-spoken, and apologizes whenever he hits someone.

Ryder's having a hard time concentrating. He keeps thinking about all the finals he has to take, and how bad they're all going to suck. That's when he hears it. "Sorry, bro." From the new kid.

"It's cool. Ryder," Ryder introduces, extending a hand.

"Joseph. Joe, if you want." Joe responds.

"Do you go to Washington?" Ryder asks, naming his middle school, even though he already knows. He's absolutely terrible with names, but he'd remember a kid who looks like Joe.

"No. I'm home schooled."

"And your parents let you play airsoft?" Ryder asks, impressed. "I always gotta wait until mine are out. My sister lets me, though. She's cool."

"You've got a sister? Righteous," Joe says.

"Are you, like, a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle?" Ryder asks.

"No," Joe shakes his head, confused. "Is that bad?"

"No," Ryder tells him easily. "It's just a cartoon."

"Ah. We don't have a TV."

Ryder's eyes widen. "I wouldn't know what to do without a TV…"

Joe gives him a strange look. It's not judgmental, just long, and serious. "Listen, Ryder, it was awesome meeting you, but I've gotta get home. Hey. Is there any way I can pray for you? Anything you need?"

The question takes Ryder off-guard. "I got finals coming up…" he hedges. "Pray I pass. And pray that if I don't…that my parents still love me…" Ryder doesn't know where the honesty is coming from. Something about Joe's attitude. His honesty.

"Most kids I ask that question of what they need with a new skateboard or something," Joe confesses.

"I'm not most kids," Ryder challenges, lifting his chin.

Joe starts walking away, but turns and talks softly. "You could talk to your parents…maybe your sister? I bet they'd help."

"Nah, I got it," Ryder insists. "Thanks, though."

"I hope you pass."

"Me, too."

_The End_


	28. Unprepared

**Prompt: **Be prepared

**Character: **Unique (an interlude between parts 1 & 2 of _Dreams Aren't Free_.)

**Words: **851

Ryder Lynn's probably got many strengths. Being subtle certainly isn't one of them. And if Unique can catch him biting his lip and looking over his shoulder before studying that gorgeous drawing of flowers in a vase before folding it neatly and rushing away…well…other people probably saw it, too.

And Unique's learned she's got to be careful around other people. Not everyone's understanding. Her parents don't even get it. Not really. They still call her Wade and insist she dress like a boy when they go visit the relatives. She's not allowed to wear any make up.

"At home," her mother says, "you can be whoever you want to be."

But that's just it. This isn't a matter of wanting. It's a matter of _being_. It'd be like telling Ryder Lynn he could dress like a boy inside the four walls of his house, but when he went out, he had to wear heels, make up, pink clothing, or dresses. That wouldn't be fair. So, how is this fair?

And if her own parents don't get it, how can Unique expect a guy like Ryder to understand? She knows how he reacts to confrontation. How he turns his head away when she gets bullied in the locker room. How he took one step forward in the boys' bathroom when she was threatened with a knife, but then turned pale and couldn't move to her defense.

And why would he? She didn't want anybody putting themselves at risk for her. Not if they didn't have to.

That's exactly why, when Unique sees Ryder putting a picture of flowers in her locker, her heart sinks. Because he's not ready for what it means to have a crush on her. As well-meaning as he is. As much as it might warm her heart, she has got to put a stop to this here and now.

But then they're in glee club. They're in glee club and he's making eyes at her. _Smiling_ at her. It makes her all warm inside. It makes her feel like someone, somewhere, actually sees her for who she is.

When he'd asked questions a few days earlier, she'd taken it as a good sign. Tried not to be defensive. She showed him videos. Simple explanations by kids who were trans. Those were the best for explaining this in an uncomplicated way. Unique tried to forget the way he caught her off-guard by telling her she smelled good. Tried to pretend she couldn't see how he'd frozen when the words left his mouth, like, he expected something awful might happen to him.

Unique had gone home that very day and vowed to end this. Whatever _this _was. She couldn't even talk to Marley about it, because there's been some strange tension going on between Marley, Jake and Ryder lately. She can't talk to anybody. As usual, she's got only herself.

And then, the very next day, Unique catches Ryder with that picture. At her locker. Looking over his shoulder. It doesn't even have his name on it anywhere, but Unique would know his work anywhere. He's so talented. God, she loves that picture.

She tries to get up the courage to tell him this can't work, but the next thing she knows it's the end of the day. After all the smiles and the flirting. She's hung back in after glee club practice.

"I love your flowers," she says, biting her lip.

"_This can't work."_

"How'd you know they were from me?" he asks, blushing.

"No one I know is an artist, except for you," she admits.

"_You don't know what you're getting into."_

"Ah… So, I like you…" he says, and her heart is pounding. She's so excited. She is so terrified.

She wants to tell him that this has to stop here and now. Because McKinley High is about as accepting as a pit full of rattlesnakes. Ryder will be targeted. She'll have worse to deal with than shoving, than threats in the bathroom, than girls chasing her home.

But Unique doesn't say any of those things. Because, the truth is, she wants this. She wants this so bad. She's just a girl who's waiting to fall in love with a boy. Who wants someone to love her for her. So when Ryder asks her if she's okay with this, Unique doesn't tell him the truth, burning in her throat. She tells him her whole life's a challenge and if he wants to bring some good into it, who is she to say no to that?

She should say no. It's the safest course of action for both of them. She should. But she can't.

And then, as if pulled by an invisible force, they both stare into each other's eyes an extra second. Then, they check out the hall, to be sure no one can see them.

When his lips brush her cheek, it is the sweetest thing.

Still, it seals something inside her heart. Now, they're in this. Both of them. Like it or not. Whatever happens tomorrow, she'll be ready for it.

But will he?

_The End._


	29. Absence

**Prompt: **Hearing loss

**Character: **Emma

**Words: **572

_Hearing_ loss is impossible. Like capturing sunlight, except very much in reverse. Because loss doesn't make a sound at all. It's internal, and it's painful. The only sound it makes is the loud silence left behind by the person who once filled it.

You might think that losing Will is like this. In a way, it is. It's the loss of the person Emma believed Will to be. The loss of the life they had planned to build together. The only comfort she can take in all of this is that she was the one to walk away. That she was not the one who was left behind.

Because how can Emma marry a man she doesn't know? A man she can't trust to be here for her? A man who loves her, but demeans her in a million small ways? A man who doesn't listen to her? A man who can't accept her, flaws and all?

These and a million other doubts have been crowding Emma's head for months, but Will has been so set on going ahead with the wedding that even when Emma voiced concerns, he brushed them off as "her normal OCD" or "nerves". It was infuriating to have her own legitimate concerns minimized at every turn. It was overwhelming to be in charge of every single aspect of planning. Normal days were difficult enough for Emma, now add in the stress of a wedding - _her _wedding - and it wasn't going to work. Finn Hudson kissing her was unexpected, and unwanted. And it was the last straw.

Because if the man she planned to marry had this person as his best man - someone who would see her in the midst of a panic attack and _kiss her out of it_ what would Will do? It's silly. Will and Finn aren't one and the same, but they are similar.

And Emma can't help thinking that if Will can't help her through the most stressful time in her life than what is being married to him really going to be like? How can she count on him for the little things if she knows that when it really counts, he'll leave her to deal with life's stresses herself and then trivialize her reactions?

It's this. And it's so much more than this.

It's that he comes when she does not want to be found. It's that he sings her a song with a boombox and his glee kids and genuinely expects that this, and a movie, will build a foundation on which they can trust each other. It's that he doesn't know she has a niece. He doesn't know her family. It's that he doesn't really know _her_.

He knows Emma Pillsbury, guidance counselor. Emma Pillsbury, pamphlet-maker. Emma Pillsbury, OCD-sufferer. Emma Pillsbury, "nervous little bride to be." He never knew Emma Pillsbury, the child. He never asks how she began making the pamphlets she loves so much. Though she has asked him what made him want to teach. He assumes her parents are the only family she has, though she's mentioned her brother. Even though they've met his family numerous times. He does not know Emma Pillsbury, the woman, who fights to be a better person in a million small ways every single day.

He does not know her. So, it's oddly right that his absence in her life should be marked by such an incredible silence.

_The End_


	30. Out

**Prompt: **Sorry seems to be the hardest word

**Characters:** Mike & Quinn.

**Words: **874

He should have known.

That's all Mike can consciously think now that his life has been turned upside down. He had honestly convinced himself his parents would accept him. He's still the same person, isn't he? He's still their son.

But none of that had mattered, because the minute the words crossed his lips - the minute Mike said "I'm gay" out loud - he had seen the looks on his parents faces. And it turned out that it wasn't the hate that he feared the most. It was being a stranger to them.

They left first. Went out to continue with their plans for the evening. They didn't overtly tell him anything, but they didn't have to. What they didn't say was enough. The looks on their faces, begging this unfamiliar person to be out of their sight by the time they were home. So, Mike left.

He packed two bags - as much as he could carry on his own - with as many necessary items that would fit - and only a few precious ones. Because when you're no longer welcome - when you have to leave in such a hurry - you find you can pick out what is really important. Clothing. Toiletries. His phone and charger. His wallet, with the picture of his family inside.

Then, he'd walked for a mile or so - not too far - just until he reached Matt's house and asked to crash on his couch for a while. Matt said, "Yeah, man, of course." And it was a roof over his head. And Mike was grateful. But it wasn't a home.

Which is why, in Glee, when the club spent the beginning of the week practicing tricks to make the judges like them more, and then singing with the kids from Haverbrook (Mike was pretty fluent in ASL) it made him realize he had to tell his parents the truth.

He'd taken courage from Kurt who had come out to his dad earlier this year, and had actually been pretty cool about it. But Mike's parents aren't Kurt's dad. They speak of honor and respect - and though they don't say it - Mike's honesty seems like the most disrespectful thing he has ever done.

It's the email from his father, sent the day after he leaves, that clenches it. It reads simply:

_I want all of your things out of my house and my garage._

Mike's name is nowhere to be seen. He has become invisible. Insignificant and too significant all at once, because his parents can't pretend and he can't take back the words.

He doesn't go home because he's terrified. He stays at Matt's. At the end of the week, when they go to the auditorium to find a line of stools on stage, Mike sits down warily.

He knows what the plan is. He knows the song. He also knows he won't be able to get through this. Matt isn't anywhere near him, and that's fine, because Mike needs to do this alone. But from the minute the opening of _True Colors_ starts, Mike's throat swells with emotion.

Tina sings, "You, with the sad eyes…" and she might as well be singing to him.

He blinks once. Twice. He should just apologize. But anger wells inside him at the thought and the word sticks in his throat. He can't speak at all.

Suddenly, his face is wet, and his shoulders are shaking, and he's trying not to mess this up for everyone. But he's sitting next to Rachel and she calls "cut!" loudly, ruining the moment. Ruining Mike's cover.

"I'm sorry," he says. The right words at entirely the wrong time.

For so many long moments no one moves. And then, from around Rachel, someone does. Mike knows her by scent because he doesn't dare lift his head. It's unexpected, DKNY's green apple perfume, rather than something more seductive. But it suits her. Quinn. Mike imagines his situation getting passed down the line of kids like a game of telephone.

They all hear it, but only Quinn moves. Quinn moves because she just lived this, Mike realizes. Her parents kicked her out last week when Finn told them she was pregnant. She had been devastated. Still was.

He feels her embrace him from behind. Feels her cheek rest against his arm.

"They hate me," he whispers. "I should just apologize…"

She squeezes him a little tighter. They stay like this for several awkward minutes until Mike hears everyone around them getting up, and leaving the stage. Then it's just the two of them.

"I can't go back," Mike manages. "I can't face them. But they say I have to go get all my stuff because they don't want any of it. Or me."

"Listen to me," Quinn says, her voice low and thick. "Screw them. Until they learn how to treat you, they don't deserve to have you."

_You say that to me_, he thinks, _but do you believe it's true for you?_

A shudder runs through him. (Relief? Or just more sadness?) Mike reaches up around his own body, and covers Quinn's hand with his own.

He has no words, so he'll have to hang onto hers.

_The End._


	31. Mountaineer

**Prompt: **The right place for love.

**Characters: **Betty & Artie.

**Words: **605

As soon as Betty's eyes adjust to the lights in the hotel room she paid for - on the assumption that she and whoever her aunt set her up with would hook up after the reception - she scowls.

"What?" Artie asks innocently.

"What?" she scoffs. "I asked for an accessible room, and they gave me _this_."

Artie looks around. "What's wrong with it? I mean, it's a hotel room. I'm not sure what you expect."

"I expect to be able to hook up with somebody in a hotel room, without the staff assuming I'm a _mountaineer_. The height of that bed is insane," she enunciates. "I expect that in 2013 _accessible_ means more than an elevator and wider doorways. I wanna do the wild with you and I wanna take a damn shower afterward."

"Or we could just ask for help," Artie offers, blushing at the mention of sex. "Here, I'll call Finn. He's helped me before with stuff like this, and I'm pretty sure he's only a couple doors down."

"No. I mean, you do whatever you want. I'm not letting some guy I don't know put their hands on me. No offense. So, you call your friend. And I'll be in the bathroom. Getting into something more…suitable. Let me know when he's gone."

Betty can barely squeeze her chair into the hotel bathroom, but she manages, and strips to her unmentionables while there's a knock on the hotel room door, and another voice joins Artie's. She wonders idly if this Finn knows that Artie is planning to go all the way. If he even realizes there's a girl in here.

Then, a knock sounds at the bathroom door, jolting her out of her own thoughts. She's almost ready, but still, grateful for parking her chair so it blocks any unwanted entrance into the bathroom. "Betty? Uh… You need a hand?"

"No, thanks," she calls, flippantly. "I got it."

She has no idea how she'll get it, but Betty is nothing if not determined. She slips into Victoria's Secret pajamas - cotton, top and bottom - because mountaineering always requires the proper attire. Sexy lingerie it is not, but Betty will make due. At least she's out of that dress and those shoes. She can finally breathe a little bit.

When Artie gives the all-clear, Betty makes her way out, parking at an angle to the bed. Artie's already in on the left, leaving the right for her. She's got her board, thank God, otherwise, this really might be impossible. She gets everything ready. The angle is ridiculous.

"All right, I'm gonna need you to hold onto me," she says in her best no-nonsense tone, and Artie scoots himself closer to get a good grip on her forearm. She stretches to put her legs up on the bed. Then, she steels herself. "When I push up, I want you to grab my waistband and pull toward you. And if you try to cop a feel while doing so - just know that the minute I get in this giant bed - I'll kill you," she smiles sweetly.

"You like doing things the hard way, don't you," Artie quips, while hauling her toward him.

"I like doing things _my way_," she grunts.

It's hard. Much harder than she anticipates, but Artie's grip is strong. And, eventually, Betty's in. She's exhausted, but Artie's face is inches from hers, and she raises herself up on her elbows, to meet him halfway.

A girl doesn't kiss and tell, but suffice it to say that - hotel bed from hell notwithstanding - all the mountaineering?

Totally worth it.

_The End._


	32. To Stay Alive

**Prompt: **Everyone is fighting.

**Characters: **Jake & Noah.

**Words: **785

Every day's a struggle. He hurts absolutely everywhere and a diagnosis has done absolutely nothing to help Jake feel any better. The fact is, his chances of surviving this are slim. He's got no siblings. His mom's not a match. And the fact is, Jake needs bone marrow.

But the truth is, while as many as half of the Caucasian kids who are in his situation stand a chance at a match with an unrelated donor, with Jake, his chances plummet to a miserable ten percent. The chance of Jake finding a match somewhere…his chance of survival…is almost nothing.

You might think that Jake would lie down and take this kind of news. After all, it's exhausting and it would be easier to just give in, but that's never been Jake's style. Besides, he's only fifteen. He hasn't really lived. Hasn't gotten over being totally pissed at everyone and everything. Well, he _did_, but it took cancer to do it. To make him take a hard look at his life and the way he was living it. To ask himself if it was really worth it to walk around angry.

He takes that anger, and uses it to do everything he can to fight the crazy out-of-control cells in his body. He does everything he's told. Then he does more.

Ten percent.

It's not much, but it's something.

* * *

When there's a commotion outside his door to disrupt the monotony of his life in a hospital room, Jake's curious, but sapped of energy. Bald and sick and weak. But when he hears the voices ("_I don't want you near him!"_ and then _"I want to help! I wasn't here because I didn't know, but I know now. I'm his _brother_ for God's sake_!")

"Mom…" Jake calls weakly. "Mom…"

"What?" she snaps. She's stressed. She's a good mom, but they've never really been close.

"Who's out there? I wanna see…"

She doesn't step aside as much as she moves out of necessity, because the guy looks like nothing and nobody's gonna stop him from getting in.

"Hey, Jake, I'm Noah…" he says hesitantly, and the resemblance, though not super strong is enough to convince Jake they're related. Though Noah's obviously their dad's kid.

"I won't have you getting his hopes up for nothing!" Jake's mom hisses under her breath. She hasn't slept in who knows how many days. Balances her time between a crappy job and here. He knows she doesn't make the kind of money it takes to cover these kind of hospital bills but she tells him not to worry about it.

"Listen, lady. I'm eighteen. I can do what I want. And if I wanna get tested to see if I can help _your kid_ and _my brother _kick cancer in the ass? I'm gonna do it."

"Just because you're eighteen does not make you an adult. What if you _are _a match? Is that something you're willing to go through? A painful procedure-"

_She's protecting him_, Jake thinks, and it stings a little. But his mom is living on the other side of testing and _not _being a match for him. She's not dealing with it. How will Noah, if it doesn't work out?

Still.

"Stop…" he calls weakly. "Let him do it if he wants to." If it's a chance at living longer, Jake wants it, no matter the cost.

But Noah's not a match. Neither is his little sister, Sarah, who looks about ten, and not old enough to visit the oncology floor, unless it's for family…which qualifies her…Jake guesses.

* * *

It's not easy. Dying.

His mom and Noah fight every day. For the entire six months Jake hangs on, waiting for some miracle. For somebody's bone marrow. For that ten percent. What they don't know is, Jake's fighting, too. Even when he's too sapped to do anything but sleep or grit his teeth against the pain. He's fighting to stay alive.

But the end comes.

And in the end, his mother can't be there. It's early - before dawn - and his mom has to show up at work or risk losing her insurance. It doesn't help cover much, but Jake knows it's better than nothing. Lose her job. Lose the insurance. Jake's mom would drown in debt, while his spirit went on to whatever came after this.

He doesn't tell anyone this, but he's terrified of dying alone. Terrified of dying, period, but dying alone was easily his worst fear. He fights to stay a little longer. Even though it's agony. Then a hand squeezes his in the dark.

"It's okay, bro." Noah's voice. It's rough. Heavy.

It's permission.

And that's how Jake stops fighting.

That's how he lets go.

_The End._


	33. Nine Days

**Prompt: **"Whose little boy is that?"

**Words: **901

I get up early and go to a room that's not mine. Pick out clothes that aren't mine. Put them on. White tee shirt. Blue jeans. Black tennis shoes. Black jacket. The beanie with the visor. Nothing else. I'm ready but I'm not ready. I don't want to go. But I go.

I take a deep breath and walk outside where it's cold. Where I can see my breath. Miss Pillsbury's been gone forever. Mr. Schuester is pissed at everybody. Principal Figgins is busy dealing with all the parents' concerns, firing people, dealing with what police found when they were searching lockers. He announced via loudspeaker on Friday that no canines would be allowed on school premises because they would be a distraction to learning. (I want to say, "Okay…but who can learn anyway now? Who can concentrate? I know I can't, with the world falling apart around me." But I don't. Because sometimes it's still hard to speak.)

So, short answer? I don't know who to blame. Or who to thank. Because there are dogs coming here. Not to McKinley, but to Lima. To one of the churches here. And I need them.

I need them because it's been nine days, and the world just keeps getting scarier. I can't sleep because I can't take the dark. The news lately is terrifying. Way worse than a lockdown. It makes me look over my shoulder. It makes me hunch my shoulders. It makes me not take anything more than what I absolutely need with me. It makes me pay attention. Maybe a little too much. It makes me feel completely numb. It makes it hard for me to function.

My family tries but they don't get it. How can they when they weren't there? Only the other kids in glee understand. And even _we _don't talk about it. If they feel anything like I feel it's this weird mix of shame at having such a big reaction when nothing actually happened, relief that we're mostly okay, and complete anxiety one-hundred percent of the time. Anticipating a sound that we might never hear again. In school, since there's no point in trying to go to Mr. Schuester or Finn, and Miss Pillsbury's not even there, I find myself seeking out Coach Beiste. The last person I thought I'd go to in order to feel okay, but I swear, she was the only one who really knew what she was doing, who kept us calm. Mr. Schuester looked as scared as we were. Coach Beiste, though, she was steady.

I walk for a while, until I see the church on the corner. It's familiar in the way any significant landmark in my hometown is. It's a touchstone. I put my head down and push the door open. Walk inside.

It turns out, more people than just me have had the same idea for how to spend their Saturday. I notice Sam first - for once not dressed as Evan - sprawled on the floor in the sanctuary. He's wrapped awkwardly around a golden retriever. They lie there, seeming content. I glance around again and spot Marley and her mom. Unique. Tina. Brittany. Even Quinn Fabray is here. Sam must've called her. Or maybe Brittany. All the girls are crowded around a second dog.

I stay near the back. Maybe, just being near the dogs will be enough. I don't know why, but I feel like being alone now. All that work to get out of the house without waking my family to come here and now I don't even want to be around anyone? Sounds crazy, right?

I sit alone in the back pew - maybe praying, maybe hoping, or maybe letting my new friend, anxiety, ruin my life - when there's a noise near me and I can't help it. I jump.

There is someone talking about the dogs and what they do. She is in the aisle. It's very casual. She speaks about one dog in particular, but the dog keeps pulling against her. I brace myself. Try to keep myself together. I don't want this. By now, the woman speaking about the Comfort Dogs has started leading the bad one away. They pass by me and the dog stops. Nuzzles me.

And something inside me breaks. I bury my face in the dog's fur and I sob.

I hear the murmur go up around me from regular parishioners: _Whose little boy is that? Did he come alone? Where are his parents?_

It takes longer than it should to realize they're talking about me. I tense. I don't want to be noticed. And I force myself away from the dog before that happens.

I leave behind the only people in the world who know how I feel. I run. Because I am not who they think I am at all. And I have to get away before they realize they know me.

Before they realize while physically small, I'm not a boy. With my hair tucked under the hat and zero makeup on, I hardly resemble the girl they know. And that's exactly the point. I don't want to stand out anymore. I don't want to attract attention. So I get out before that happens. Before they make the connection.

Because this is my church, and here, they call me Katherine.

To kids at school, though, I've always just been Kitty.

_The End._


	34. Finding Your Way

**Prompt: **Write in a genre or voice you're not comfortable in.

**Character: **Trent

**Words: **864

Contrary to popular belief, Trent didn't come to Dalton Academy by choice. Contrary to popular belief, he hadn't always been a Warbler. In fact, there was a time when he easily could have been a member of Profesor Schuester's glee club, New Directions.

He'd been a freshman, disgusted by his Spanish teacher's lack of ethics. Trent saw him pass Brittany Pierce, who answered every question on their midterm, with a detailed drawing of a sombrero. Trent saw him make a mockery of Spanish culture in a way few students noticed or cared about. So, when Profesor Schuester mentioned the glee club in the last five minutes of class, encouraging them to sign up, Trent's heart ached.

Singing was his passion. He'd spent all of the previous summer in his room clicking through songs on his I-Pod, perfecting Coldplay, Katy Perry OneRepublic, Beyonce, Adele and Rihanna. Trent had no doubt. He'd thrive in a club like that. But he couldn't join on good conscience. Even as a freshman, he had high standards. So, he'd studiously done the work, trying to ignore the way his insides ached whenever he passed the choir room.

And then?

Well, then everything changed. A Friday night just like any other. His parents out on date night. Himself, at home, doing homework without the slightest clue. His earbuds blocked the sound of sirens two miles from the house, where his parents' car had crashed.

The next months were a blur. Trent moved in with his aunt and uncle, and lost his grip on absolutely everything. Caffeine pills and cigarettes quickly became the gateway to alcohol. His aunt and uncle were casual drinkers. Trent quickly became more than that. Drinking made him forget. It also turned him into a terrible person. He was violent at home. Cut school. Got suspended for fighting. Trent, the guy who didn't believe in violence. It was crazy. He hurt so much.

The summer after freshman year, there were whispers of changes. They insisted he talk to someone about his losses. He did, only because he wasn't given a choice in the matter. It helped a little, but it didn't bring his parents back. It didn't change the fact that they introduced themselves and then him, as "our nephew." Like he could ever forget that he would never be anyone's son again.

He was still floundering. They drove by the place the accident happened every single day. There's a lot of those days, weeks and months that he'd simply lost. He had no idea what happened between April and September, but suddenly, there was Dalton.

A boarding school.

Apparently, he was still hard to handle. ("You need structure.") Rules. ("There's a dress code.") People who cared. ("Zero tolerance policy, strictly enforced.")

Trent's first day at Dalton, he couldn't help feeling that he'd been given up on. Truly. Even with months of counseling behind him, Trent found himself battling anger at unexpected triggers. The sight of kids with their parents. Someone laughing. But the conversation with the headmaster stuck with him. He'd said it was a second chance, coming here. He'd encouraged Trent to take it. Any violence or banned substances and he'd be expelled. There would be no discussion.

And though no one said it, Trent knew he had no third option. His aunt and uncle had used money he didn't know they possessed on tuition for this place. Because he wasn't allowed to fight, or drink, he turned again to music. He blocked out his roommate. Lost himself in studying. Did everything he could to stay busy so he would not have to think of the hole he felt inside when he thought of his parents. The emptiness they once filled without him even realizing it.

It was late one night when Trent heard it. "You should join the Warblers, dude." That was it from his roommate, who barely spoke two words to him. But, as it turned out, they were worth listening to.

Later, he found the sign up sheet and added his name. Midweek, he sat on a bench outside the rehearsal space near a kid about his age. Small, though. And his eyes. Trent saw the anger in them.

"Are you auditioning?" the kid asked, his voice carefully controlled.

"What's it look like?" Trent snapped.

Something flashed in the kid's eyes. "I _know_ you."

"I _doubt _it," Trent scoffed.

"You're the one who had all that trouble at your old school, right? From Lima? I heard about that."

"Screw you," Trent spat, and glanced around to be sure no teachers overheard the insult. He took a deep breath, deciding to try again. If he got to sing, maybe things would get better. He shifted uncomfortably in the blazer and slacks. "What song are you singing?"

"I don't know. We won't until we get in there."

"We?"

"They audition in small groups. To see how we blend. If we can work well together."

"I'm Trent," he introduced, extending a hand in a way that felt foreign and familiar all at once. Courtesy felt like a comfort. Maybe, he could do this after all.

"Good luck, Trent. I'm Blaine," the other said, shaking his hand.

_The End._


	35. Ransacked

**Prompt: **Ransacked

**Characters: **Jake & Noah

**Words: **989

Jake can't stop shaking. He was just out playing basketball. It was just a night like any other night. And he came home. Got to his homework late, as usual. It was around midnight when he heard the window break. When he heard all their stuff being thrown around. When he heard two voices talking. His mom screaming.

Before he did anything else, Jake grabbed his cell phone and called 911. He knew the best thing he could do was get help to them no matter what was going on. So, he pressed his body to the floor beside his bed and answered questions in short whispers. Jake knew his mom was protecting him right now. (He could hear her begging them to leave; never once mentioning anyone else in the house.) So, he was doing all he could to protect her.

The minutes he waited were agony. It killed him to stay where he was during this, but it was like he physically could not move.

"Tell them to hurry," Jake whispered, swallowing the lump in his throat.

* * *

The hospital waiting room was lonely. It smelled like medicine and coffee. He wanted to go home, but it was past 3 a.m. and it didn't look like that was happening anytime soon. His mom had been badly injured. He'd seen her in the back of the ambulance. Pale and bleeding from so many places.

After a while, some lady came to talk to him. She made him suspicious with her questions, about whether he had other family. Or anyplace to go.

"Why?" he asked, not yet able to control his shaking.

"Because I'm a social worker and it's my job to make sure kids are safe."

"My mom _kept me_ safe," Jake said softly, anger burning in his eyes. "She could have called out for me, but she never did. Not once."

"I understand that. It sounds like you, and she, did everything right tonight. The fact is, though, that your mom is going to be here for a while and you need a place to go while she recovers. Do you have any other family?"

Jake heard what she didn't say. That if he couldn't come up with other family to stay with, he'd end up in the system. So he racked his tired brain. His dad was out of the question and he didn't have grandparents.

"There _is _someone," Jake admitted quietly, and began to dial Puck's number.

* * *

By 3:30, Puck was there, approaching him cautiously. "Hey, bro. You okay?" he asked.

Jake shook his head. He noticed Sarah standing behind Puck. She was in pink pajamas, her hair a mess. Puck was in a wrinkled tee shirt and plaid drawstring pants. He really had gotten them out of bed for this. But unlike his dad, they had actually answered the phone. They actually came when he needed them.

Puck talked to the social worker a bit, and stood when he was finished.

"I can take you tomorrow to see your mom," Puck promised. "Do you want to stop by home and get your stuff?"

* * *

Jake didn't go home to get any of his stuff.

One walk-through of the house after the cops had told him it was safe to come out had been enough. Their sparse house had been destroyed. Valuables and electronics smashed. Blood and broken glass in the carpet. His scooter was in pieces. Right with everything else, it had been there, evidence that there was another person in the house. Somehow, those guys hadn't made the connection.

Instead, he got in the passenger side of Puck's car while Sarah curled in the back to sleep.

"Our mom's out," Puck volunteered quietly. "So, it'll be just the three of us, all right? You can have my room. I'll take the couch."

But Jake couldn't speak. He wanted to ask important questions. If their house had a burglar alarm. If Puck would be able to protect both himself and Sarah if someone broke in there.

He collapsed in his brother's bed, once home, turning down his offer of a tee shirt and some pants to sleep in. Jake was exhausted. There was school tomorrow.

"All right. Sarah's down the hall. I'll just be in the living room, all right?" Puck said, hovering a little in the doorway to his own bedroom.

Jake still felt every single word he meant to say damned up at the base of his throat. So, he just nodded, and pulled the blankets up around him, trying to convince himself his heart wasn't still racing. That he wasn't still shaking.

But hours later, when he found himself pressed to the floor beside Puck's bed, Jake couldn't deny it anymore. With a shaking hand, he groped for his cell phone and stared at the names and numbers there.

Kitty

Marley

Mike

Millie

Ryder

Unique

He highlighted one, and willed his voice not to shake as he spoke. He knew she'd be awake. The only one he would be at 5:30 in the morning.

"Hello?"

"Mrs. Rose? It's Jake…"

"Morning, Jake. Is everything okay?" she asked, concern in her voice.

"Actually, no," he managed.

"Well, I'll do anything I can to help," she said sincerely.

"I know," he whispered. "I just…could you tell Marley I don't think I'll make it to school today?"

"Sure, hon'. Do you need anything? I've got soup ingredients on hand. Homemade chicken noodle," she said and he could hear the smile in her voice.

"No, thanks. I'm really not that hungry." Jake forced the words out and then, unable to say anymore, he hung up. Silence filled his ears but it was filled with memories of breaking glass. Of his mom screaming. Of his own whispers. Of his own fear.

He couldn't move. So Jake just waited for someone to come and give him the all-clear. To tell him that it was safe to move.

_The End._


	36. Leah

**Prompt: **An unexpected goodbye

**Characters: **Quinn & Rachel

**Words: **819

There's a reason why Quinn doesn't go by Lucy, and it's not what she tells Lauren Zizes. It's not what she plans to put on the dumb tee shirt. Yes, the nickname had hurt, but that had come later. When Quinn's life had already turned upside down.

When she runs out of school, feeling grief hit her in waves, Quinn doesn't expect to be followed.

"Quinn," Rachel says from beside her, and Quinn nearly collapses in relief. If anyone calls her Lucy right now, Quinn is sure it will destroy her. "Quinn… Are you all right?"

Trembling, Quinn tries to force the key to unlock her car but her hand is shaking too much. And that poster is still balled up in her other fist and Quinn can't think beyond the blinding pain.

This is too much.

It's too much because it's been ten years, and in a decade, Quinn has practically forgotten that once upon a time, she hadn't been so alone.

Finally, the key slides into the lock, and Quinn shakily climbs into the driver's side. Quietly, and without being invited, Rachel follows suit, filling Quinn's passenger seat.

Quinn can't get herself together. She can't stop crying. But, she guesses, ten years of denying a loss will do that. For Rachel's part, she doesn't move. It's strange. Rachel Berry is always doing something, but now, she just sits quietly with her arms folded and a look of concern on her face. Her nose is still swollen. Quinn is glad they don't have to go for anymore consultations with the plastic surgeon. That Rachel is done wishing for Quinn's looks. For her boyfriend. For her life.

Rachel doesn't know the first thing about her life.

Quinn tries to force the tears down to wherever they go when Quinn denies them, but they keep coming. She white-knuckles the poster in her hand. "My sister, Leah…" Quinn manages, her voice thick and raw. "She died when we were seven." Quinn forces herself to meet Rachel's eyes. "Do you still want to be me?"

"I-I'm so sorry…" Rachel managed. So you…you were twins?"

Quinn nods. "Identical. She got cancer and I didn't. Even though I thought that being twins meant we did everything the same…"

"Were you close?" Rachel asks carefully.

"We did everything together. Dressed exactly alike. Played together every day. She bossed me around and I let her because she was two minutes older. I cried every night she was in the hospital…which was pretty often… I wanted to stay with her but I wasn't allowed. I thought, you know, she'd be home?" Quinn managed, her statement coming out like a question. "Because she'd always come home before. My parents didn't talk to me at all about what was happening. I stayed home with Frannie while Dad worked and Mom stayed with her. One day, Mom came back but Leah just…wasn't with her…"

"That must've been terrifying…" Rachel comments softly.

"Not as much as the funeral, where my dad insisted I be strong and my mom walked Frannie and me up to the coffin to say goodbye. I hadn't seen Leah for a long time by that point and her appearance…she was so small and pale and didn't look anything like herself…"

Quinn's hand shake as she fumbles with the locket around her neck. Finally, it opens and Quinn leans forward so Rachel can see what's inside. A picture of two little girls. Brunettes, and mirror images of each other. One dressed in pink and the other in purple.

"Can you tell us apart?" Quinn asks hearing ghosts of Leah's voice in her own request. It had been a fun game they'd played as kids. When Leah lost her hair it had been less fun, because people knew right away, because Lucy looked healthy and had hair, while Leah was bald and sick. But this picture had been taken when they were five. Before cancer.

Hesitantly, Rachel points to the sister in purple and Quinn laughs, the sound brittle. "That's Leah."

"Tell me about her?" Rachel asks.

"She was my best friend. For years after she died I didn't know who I was. As a twin, your identity is as half of a whole. So, without her, who was I? By myself, I wasn't one of "the twins" or "the girls." I ate to be less lonely. I gained weight and looked less and less like Leah might have. The last thing I let go of was my name."

"Because of Lucy Caboosey…" Rachel surmises having seen the posters before Quinn tore one down.

"Because _we were _Leah and Lucy…and Lucy alone just never felt like enough," Quinn admits, her voice breaking.

Slowly, she feels Rachel's arms fold her into a hug. "I think Lucy was very brave," Rachel says, her own voice shaking with emotion. "But, do you know something?"

She shakes her head.

"So is Quinn Fabray."

_The End._


	37. Lima Lemon Juice

**Prompt: **A new hair color

**Characters: **Sam & Stevie

**Words: **761

When Sam found out his family was moving to Lima, Ohio for his sophomore year of high school, he kind of panicked. Nashville was his home. It wasn't perfect, but he'd spent his entire childhood there. He'd never lived in the Midwest and didn't know what to make of it, or what they'd make of him.

He'd spent the last year in a Christian boarding school, where they'd tried to help with his failing grades. He attended school with a bunch of guys with different kinds of issues, and he'd dealt with the resentment being put with them had caused at first. Dyslexia caused his failing grades, not a lack of effort, but he could never really get anyone else to understand that. Eventually, he'd gotten used to the intense structure and kind of even thrived there.

Then, his dad's job transferred him. And that's how Sam found himself in shut in the bathroom with a bag of lemons.

He heard a tap on the door.

Sam cracked it open, seeing his little brother on the other side. "What'd you need, Stevie?" he asked gently.

It still got to him that because of the behavior of most of the kids at that school, he only saw his little brother and sister one time the entire year. His parents, twice. Some guys might have been fine with that, but his brother and sister were four and two at the time, and Sam worried that by the time he got back, they wouldn't remember him. He'd missed their birthdays and nine months of their lives - and at their ages - it was forever. Because of that, and because Stacey still seemed shy around him, Sam spent the last month trying to spend as much time as he could with them. Which meant opening the door even when Sam didn't particularly want to.

"What are you doing with our _lemons_?" Stevie asked, curious.

Sam shushed him, and waved him inside quickly. He wasn't sure what his parents would think about his plan. Stacey couldn't keep a secret to save her life, but Stevie was a little more reliable. It was cool having a little brother, even if he was only five.

"I'm putting lemon juice in my hair," Sam confided. "So I can look like Swayze in _Point Break."_

"_I _wanna look like Swayze in _Point _Break… Can _I_?" Stevie whispered.

"Um. I'm not sure yet how it's gonna turn out. If it's bad, I wouldn't wanna wreck your hair."

"I don't care," Stevie insisted. "I want us to be the same. That way, you can be cool for 10th grade and I can be cool for 1st grade."

"Well, listen. Since I'm the big brother, I'm gonna try this first all right? You can help squeeze the lemons and mix stuff up for the spray bottle," he bargained.

"Okay! I'm a great mixer!"

"Sam? Have you seen Stevie?" their mom called from the hallway.

"Don't tell her I'm here!" Stevie whispered, comically jumping behind the curtain into the shower.

"Yeah, he's with me," Sam confirmed, laughing at Stevie's angry expression in the mirror. "We don't want Mom to worry," he told Stevie.

"Can you watch him, Sam? I'm helping Dad with something. Stacey's with us."

"Yeah. No problem."

When she was gone, Sam and Stevie set to work. Mixing and spraying Sam's hair with lemon water. Then, he put on sunscreen and went outside with cans of Coke for him and Stevie. Sam sat in the sun and baked and Stevie swam in the plastic wading pool.

Two hours, and one more coat of lemon water later, and Sam and Stevie were back inside. Stevie was telling some story from his kindergarten class, and Sam was trying to listen, showering in board shorts and washing his hair.

A few minutes later, he stepped out and checked his reflection.

"No offense, but you don't look that different…" Stevie ventured.

"I know," Sam agreed, sounding confused. He picked up his phone and searched _Dye Your Hair With Lemon Juice_ and grimaced. His reading still wasn't up to par and the letters on the screen were ridiculously small. "Dude, can you read that?" He shoved his phone at Stevie.

"What's c-o-l-o-r?"

"Color."

"Okay. Color! …What's c-h-a-n-g-e-s?"

"Changes."

"Okay. Color changes…in 3 to 4...weeks…" Stevie read slowly.

"Great," Sam muttered, disappointed.

"How long is that?" Stevie wondered.

"A month."

"So, you'll be blonde in time for Lima! The lemon juice worked!" Stevie cheered.

"I guess you're right," Sam said, brightening. "Come on, kid. Let's go play."

_The End._


	38. Thunderclap

**Prompt: **Reinvention

**Characters: **Burt & Kurt

**Words: **1,035

"What the hell is this?" Kurt exclaims, slamming a 1984 Thunderclap on the kitchen table one day in early December.

To say Burt's feeling blindsided is an understatement. The seven-year anniversary of Liz's death just happened and that alone means he and Kurt are edgier than usual. Still, anger rises up in him. Since when did Kurt think he could talk to him like this?

"Watch your mouth," Burt warns. The kid's upset. That much is clear. His eyes are bright and he's kind of shaking. Still, that's no excuse. "Who do you think you're talking to?"

"Right now, Dad? I have no idea!"

Kurt slams the book open on the table. Burt can see from the spine that it's the copy from McKinley. "You take that?" he asks.

"Yes, okay? I didn't want anyone else connecting the dots like I did!" Kurt exclaims, furiously flipping pages.

"All right. You're losin' me," Burt admits. "What's got you so upset?"

"_This, Dad." _Kurt shoves the yearbook in front of Burt and Burt almost loses his breath. By now, it's been a good twenty-five years since he's graduated. No one expects to be faced with their high school self and all those mistakes - at least - he had hoped all that crap would stay buried. Just his luck, Kurt was the one who found it.

Burt looked, because he owed it to Kurt. Even though it made his face flood with heat. Even though he was ashamed that he'd ever acted like that. Still, though, he can't imagine seeing it and being Kurt. Slang changes over time, but not much. The meaning of the insults Burt had scrawled in there, over kids' faces… All these years later, and they were still there, staring him right in the face.

"You get this from the library?" he asks evenly, because he has to start somewhere. So, it might as well be with something obvious.

"Yes. Imagine my surprise when I was going through old Thunderclaps with Mercedes and Tina to see how long the tradition of defacing them has gone on…to see if there's hope for us as the glee club, to not have our picture scratched out, and horrible things written about us. It wasn't bad at first. I mean, we went back to 1993 and saw Mr. Schuester in some tacky monstrosity of a Nike shirt. Teresa Del Monico, the eventual Mrs. Schuester, wearing too much makeup and too big a perm…it wasn't that bad…that year, they won Nationals…so we kept going back."

Burt sighs. This isn't gonna be good. Still, he lets Kurt talk. He owes him that, at least. For a long time, he says nothing, and finally, he does:

"_Every page_, Dad?" he asks, and his voice breaks.

"Pretty much," Burt admits, feeling worse than he has in a while. He meets Kurt's eyes and can see Kurt hasn't been expecting him to own up to this. He remembers it now, singling out anyone who wasn't a jock or a cheerleader and writing these horrible things beside their pictures, knowing that someday, their kids might see, and be embarrassed that their parents were so lame. Burt never thought about his own kid. How it might look to _him_ someday.

"Is this who you are, Dad?" Kurt asks, gesturing at the book on the table. "Do you think of _me_ like this? It's like I don't even know you…"

"Kurt," Burt interrupts, raising his hand. "First, there's no excuse for this, all right? I'm sorry. I'm sorry I hurt these kids. I'm sorry I hurt you by hurting them. You want the truth? Yeah, I was a bully. I was young and stupid, okay? It was a mistake. The biggest one of my life. Secondly, it's not who I am and I absolutely do not think of you like this, all right?"

Burt watches Kurt nod. His face is all red. His eyes are faraway. Finally, Kurt looks at him. "What happened?"

"Your mother happened."

Kurt's eyebrows raise, but he says nothing.

"We were supposed to get married several months after graduation. But when she caught me writing all this… She gave me the engagement ring back and said that…she wasn't gonna marry an asshole. Called off the wedding. Apparently it takes four weeks for a new habit to stick, but Liz made us wait four _months_. It's why we were married in October, not June."

Kurt smiles a little. "So, you changed for her?" he asks carefully.

"You bet I changed for her. But the change stuck for _me_. Know what I mean? And it's a damn good thing, because the last thing I want is you ever feeling like you did today. Understand? Kurt, I was a dumb kid when I wrote that stuff, all right? I wish that you'd never seen this, buddy, okay? It's not a reflection of who I am. It's not who I wanna be."

"Must've seemed like a cruel joke when you guys had _me_, then, huh?" Kurt asks wryly and Burt takes his hand a little roughly.

"Knock it off. We tried for _ten years _to have you," he says fiercely. "_No kid _was ever wanted more than you. Your mom loved you every single day of your life, and I'll love you every single day of mine." He softens his tone a little, but keeps his grip firm on Kurt's hand. "Your mom used to say to me, 'Burt, don't try so hard. Just be you.' You don't have to do anything other than be who you are. If you're sure, then great. If you're still trying to figure it out, that's fine. If you need to talk to me, I'm here. Just don't shut me out."

Kurt doesn't say anything. Just gets up from the table and takes the yearbook with him. At the last second, he turns, though, on his way downstairs. He smiles a little, looking like Liz, and like himself, Burt realizes with a start.

"Thanks for being honest, Dad," he says, before disappearing to his room to put his stuff away.

That night, they make supper together. It's not perfect, but little by little, they're bridging the gap between them.

_The End._


	39. So You Want To Be a Cheerleader

**Prompt: **Season 2

**Characters: **Emma & Betty

**Words: **670

"So, where's that super hot dentist you're dating?" Betty asked, glancing expectantly around the kitchen, as if she expected Carl to simply materialize out of nowhere.

"Out of town," Emma answered. "at the Midwest Dental Conference."

"Oh," Betty said, looking disappointed.

"So…" Emma began, sitting down across from her niece, who was already digging into her coffee cake in a cup - it was an amazing recipe Emma found that really minimized the messiness of baking. Cups of coffee made the evening even cozier. "What's the big emergency?"

Not so long ago, really, Emma and Betty had been pretty close. They'd seen their share of hard times and great times, but now that Betty was a high school sophomore, they were spending less and less time together. Emma noticed, too, that she only asked to hang out if she needed something. It was typical of girls this age, and Emma was grateful Betty was reaching out, but she missed the closeness they shared.

"I want to tryout for the cheerleading team and Mom and Dad are being totally ridiculous about it…" Betty rolled her eyes.

"I think I have a pamphlet about overprotective-"

"I don't need a _pamphlet_, Emma, okay? I just need _you_. You're a guidance counselor, right? So _guide _my parents to realize that it's not going to ruin my life or theirs if I do this. Plus? I looked up your school, and that famous cheer coach Sylvester, or whatever, let a girl with _Down Syndrome _on their team. If she can cheer, I can _definitely _do it, right?"

"You know you can do anything you put your mind to. At the same time, I'm not comfortable going against your parents wishes on this…"

"I'm not asking you to, like, forge their signature, or anything," Betty pleaded. "Just talk to them, can't you?"

"How about talking to them together?" Emma bargained, feeling that Betty should be part of this. It was her life, after all.

* * *

Emma spent the next week doing research and making phone calls, in addition to preparing for classes to start at McKinley. It was daunting, but Emma always had been willing to go the extra mile for those she loved.

By the time the monthly family dinner at the Red Oaks came around for September, Emma was prepared. She sat at their usual table surrounded by her parents, her brother Eric, his wife Brigitte, and Betty, who stood out like a sore thumb with her blonde hair in a gingers-only establishment.

"Why do you insist on embarrassing us like this?" Eric whispered as they all looked at their menus. "Do you know how humiliating it is to have to show _proof_ that my daughter's a natural ginger every single month?"

Betty shrugged, indifferent, or so it seemed. She slid her gaze to Emma and raised an eyebrow.

"Um, Eric. Brigitte," Emma began, clearing her throat. "Betty mentioned an interest in cheering the other weekend. That's pretty great, huh? Pretty…fantastic. Listen, I made some calls and the coach is willing to see her. I mean, what's the harm in trying out?"

"She's not trying out," Eric said shortly.

"Cheering is one of the most dangerous sports…and for already endangered gingers…it's just plain irresponsible…" Emma's dad added. Emma's mom and Brigitte nodded sagely.

"Well, I'm not a real ginger, so it shouldn't matter…" Betty muttered.

"You watch your tone, young lady!" Eric admonished. "You may want to go around like some dumb blonde, rejecting your gingerhood, but genetics doesn't lie. And there is no way I'm letting my daughter go out there and parade around with blonde hair _and _a wheelchair!"

"Eric, listen. Have you ever heard of Sue Sylvester? She's the most decorated coach at McKinley and she just brought on a Cheerio with special needs."

"Hmmm…"

"She ran Sue's Corner last year on WOHN News 8..." Emma tried.

"Oh, I like her," Emma's dad announced. "Thinks like a ginger."

"We'll consider it," Eric decided.

And Emma sent a smile in Betty's direction.

_The End._


	40. Reveal

**Prompt: **Everybody's got a secret…but what happens when it all comes out?

**Characters: **Santana & Blaine

**Words: **633

**Story Spoiler Warning: **This takes place in a future chapter of "We Are Who We Were" - somewhere between 15 and 18. If you do not want to be spoiled about future plot points, I'd suggest skipping this one. For those who are not following the story, all you need to know is that it's a Season 3 AU and that Santana and Blaine each experience a devastating loss and turn to an online grief group for support, neither suspecting the other as the person responding to their loss with so much understanding.

Santana was hiding out in the guys' hotel room. Sam's, actually, mostly because Sam invited her to hang out after they participated in Coach Sue's mandatory hour in the hotel pool. Scheduled fun on the glee tour to Cincinnati hadn't seemed like her style, but after they all visited Quinn? They needed some way to break up the tension. Besides, Sam's hotel room was way better than her own, where Berry was constantly in tears, blaming herself for Quinn's accident.

Sam was still down at the pool with everyone else - well, except Anderson - he was already back and in the shower because he was all self-conscious about Hummel seeing his hair with its natural curl or something.

She felt weird in here while he was in the bathroom, especially just hanging out on one of the beds. There was nothing going on online, she'd already checked her phone, so she got up and started straightening the bed. Boys were such pigs.

Santana was in the middle of absently folding a pair of jeans, when a tiny square of paper fell out and onto the hotel carpet. Sighing, and sort of disappointed that a condom hadn't fallen out, she bent down to pick them up. Idly, she opened one.

And her entire world stopped.

Santana was reading a word-for-word printout of her response to CB. From the end of September, probably, when they were making fun of each other's screen names and talking about nightmares, and whether or not people can haunt you after they were gone.

Whose was it? Sam's or Anderson's? Either one left her feeling lightheaded. Numbly, Santana opened the second piece of paper, to see an early critique, written hurriedly on Cheerio's letterhead. It was dated the first week of Sue's Kids, and began: "_Hot & Cold - Blaine Anderson_."

The bathroom door opened and Santana's head snapped up. She glared at Anderson, who looked bewildered. "What are you doing in here?" he asked, his voice steady, his hair, perfectly styled.

"Why do you have this?" Santana ground out.

"What? Santana, I'm sorry but I can't read your mind…"

For some reason, Santana can't give the paper up. Those were her words. God, if this was true, it meant Anderson didn't just know that one piece, but everything. Ten months of secrets and pain. Things no one else knew. Instead she offered the other piece of paper. Coach Sue's critique. (_A costume isn't a costume if you use it to hide_, she had said.)

Hesitantly, he took it from her, and looked it over, his face confused. Realization fell gradually, until Anderson was as pale as she was.

They stared at each other. Neither one speaking a word.

"That's private," he said, just as cold as she was angry.

"_Why_ do you have this?" she repeated, her voice shaking against her will.

"Because it was addressed to me," Anderson explained softly. No, not Anderson. Blaine.

"You're him?" she asked, her voice breaking.

"You're her." Blaine echoed.

Santana could hear a thousand more unspoken thoughts pass between them, but before emotion overwhelmed her, she turned and fled, knowing they would keep each other's secrets. She had just as much dirt on him as he did on her.

Back in the hotel room she shared with Rachel, Santana clutched the paper to her chest and broke down in silent tears. More than 100 miles from home, and she had never felt more alone. She didn't have Miss Pillsbury. She didn't have Quinn. She definitely couldn't talk to Blaine.

Her one safe place had become an illusion, just like that. Instead of feeling comfort Santana felt the deepest sense of betrayal.

CB wasn't real. Because CB was Blaine.

Blaine knew absolutely everything about her.

God, what was she going to do?

_The End_


	41. The Twenty-Two

**Prompt: **Music in all its forms is illegal. Singing and the use of instruments is highly punishable. What lengths does your character(s) or club go to to perform? Or do they choose to live in a world without music?

**Characters: **Artie, Unique, Blaine, Rachel, Mike, Tina, Sam, Quinn, Rory, Joe, Finn, Kurt, Mercedes, Santana, Ryder, Sugar, Brittany, Puck, Jake, Marley, Matt & Kitty.

**Words:** 849

They only move at night. Twelve boys. Ten girls. All with one objective. To get to somewhere safe - somewhere they can truly be themselves - without fear of punishment so severe it makes even the toughest among them tremble.

Sue Sylvester has succeeded in her ongoing war against the arts. She has convinced people far and wide that music is responsible for any and all negativity in the state of Ohio. Anyone caught listening to music, or singing, could face jail time at the least, death, at worst. Law enforcement has quickly become corrupt here, and no one is brave enough to speak against the brutal forms of torture brought upon by police to anyone who listens to music. To anyone who sings.

They have already seen, firsthand, the death of their glee club leader, Mr. Schuester. He stood bravely in the end, never stopping his a cappella version of _Do You Hear The People _Sing from Les Miserables. Never stopping, until he literally had no other option.

They had all been forced to watch. The entire glee club. In the months that had passed, none had forgotten what they had witnessed. In the coming days, when Finn was made to clean out Mr. Schuester's belongings, Sue Sylvester was not counting on him stumbling upon what he found.

_It's a map with some kind of route marked_, Finn had said, hunkering down in the dark, out of view of the security cameras. Because too many of them gathered together would, no doubt, raise suspicion, he passed along the map to Brittany, who easily deciphered what Will meant by all the numbers and equations he had left behind.

She drew the route in invisible ink, and covered her plan with a detailed crayon drawing entitled Happy-Ville, which aroused no suspicion at all from Sue Sylvester, since she had seen Brittany's fondness for crayons and Happy-Ville in other instances. Brittany passed on the map and all her calculations under the cover of Happy-Ville, to Artie, who recognized the double-meaning in Brittany's crayon drawing.

That's how it starts.

They leave on the summer solstice, so their absence won't be noticed at school. The students who are still minors leave home under the guise of attending a summer-long camp run by Sue Sylvester.

The first night, they meet up. The twenty-two current and former students of Will Schuester's glee club. Under the cover of darkness, Brittany's map glows brightly, and they carefully cover the distance, while evading security cameras and armed guards. They don't speak.

The minute the sky begins to lighten they disappear into the nearest hotels and sleep until the sun goes down again. Until their incessant one-note blaring alarms wake them, and they rejoin each other to walk another night. The presence of a car would bring suspicion, so even though all of them _could _drive, all decide against it.

Instead, they walk, for a solid month of nights, until they cross into Indiana on July 21st.

They spend ten days there, singing all the songs they have saved since Sue Sylvester banned them, without fear of jail time, injury or death. They camp out under the stars and everything feels right. On the 31st, Jake speaks up:

"You guys could stay, you know," he says, gesturing toward the eight who have already graduated. Who would not be missed if they didn't turn up in Lima in another month's time.

"No way," Puck insists. "We're not sending you guys back alone. Without Puckzilla to protect you."

"Yeah, but you guys could have a chance at a real life here," Sugar offered, with tears in her eyes. "You could sing and be happy all the time…and we'd be happy _for _you…"

"We _should_, you guys. They have a point," Rachel agrees.

"I'm not sure I can make it back…" Quinn, this time. Her voice is barely audible. "I barely made it _here_."

"Then ride with me," Artie pats his lap. "Seriously. We're not leaving anyone behind. If any of the kids come up missing, Sylvester's going to send a search party all over until they're found. And we all know what happened to Mr. Schue. We have a window, guys. We have the summer to travel freely like this. But either all of us go back or we all face the consequences."

"Why?" Santana crosses her arms. "When we could just as easily stay here and send them back across the border to come again next year."

"Because, we're not the eight," Brittany counters. "We're the twenty-two."

They join hands, and sing for as long as possible. _Baby_, led by Sam. _Go Your Own Way_, led by Rachel. _Songbird _by Santana. _Papa, Don't Preach, _by Quinn, _Dance With Somebody_ by Brittany, _Come What May _by Kurt and Blaine, _Outcast_ by all the newer New Directions and _Don't Stop Believin_' by the original six. Just before they cross from Indiana back into Ohio, they fall silent.

They hold hands, and take the next steps as one, knowing that next year, they'll be back.

Knowing that nothing can keep them from singing.

_The End._


	42. Hani

**Prompt: **A moment that changed a life forever.

**Character: **Santana

**Words: **691

Change had become so common in the life of Santana Lopez, that most of the time, it barely registered. When you had the kind of life she'd had - the Lima Heights Adjacent life - nothing shocked her.

When she moved to New York after basically dropping out of the University of Louisville, it just seemed like the gradual next step. When she finally stopped screwing around and working at bars and cage dancing, the transition to dance classes and eventually to pursuing a major in social work all made sense to her. Brittany joining her and making a name for herself as a dancer instead of doing formulas all day at M.I.T. was just expected. They married, and immediately looked into the possibility of being foster parents.

What Santana was never expecting was for it to all happen so fast. For them to be licensed after months of training and home studies and background checks, and then, just like that, to get the call three days later.

Santana was in the car when the call came through, and she went hands-free to answer it.

"Santana, where are you?" Brittany demanded, uncharacteristically serious.

"Driving. Why?" she asked, biting back a curse at the New York traffic.

"Because the social worker called. She has a one-year-old that needs us. I told her we'd take him - that we'd pick him up from wherever, you know - but she says it's not that easy. He's in the hospital. Can you meet me?"

"Of course, I'll be there. Which hospital?"

Brittany told her, and suddenly, Santana had tunnel vision. She hardly remembered the drive itself, only meeting Brittany in PICU waiting room. Wordlessly, she took Santana's hand and they walked back, stopping to wash their hands before they entered. Brittany led the way, holding her hand. Santana focused on every detail, because details were easier to take in than the big picture. The first baby in their care was in the hospital. What did it mean? What was wrong with him?

All of a sudden, they were stopped beside a bedspace occupied by a crib. In the crib was a baby, much too little to be a one-year-old. Santana raised her eyebrows at Brittany, barely registering their social worker, who was also there, giving vital details of this baby.

"Can I hold him?" Santana asked, when there was a break in information.

"He's really sick, honey… He'll _be sick_ for the rest of his life…" Brittany cautioned.

"So, what? We shouldn't hold him? He's miserable in there, and if he's not gonna get any better, the least we can do is make sure he knows he's loved. What's his name?" Santana asked, having somehow missed it the first time around.

"Hani," Brittany supplied gently, as a nurse stepped in and lowered the side of the crib.

And inexplicably, Hani reached for her. Santana picked him up and held him against her, she took steps backward until she found a chair and sat, careful of the tubing that threaded out of him from so many places.

She sat down, and patted his back, rocking him gently, reminded of her days as candy striper at Lima Memorial. "Hey, Hani," she greeted softly, as he whimpered and clung to her, his breathing raspy. "It's going to be okay, I promise."

* * *

Santana blinked and focused on the stage in front of her. Brittany had the camera out.

"Hani Lopez-Pierce," the official voice announced, and Santana wiped tears from her eyes, watching this miracle unfold in front of her eyes. Somehow, Hani had beaten the odds. The baby who once wasn't expected to live past age five, was now eighteen. Now graduating high school, and being cheered on by his family. Herself, Brittany, and four other brothers who had joined them through foster care over the years.

After the ceremony, they met him, with his diploma in hand, and a bright smile on his face. He hugged the boys first, and then reached for Santana, now standing taller than she did.

"Mom…" he said gently, seeing her tears and smiling. "It's gonna be okay," he whispered. "I promise."

_The End._


	43. Galen

**Prompt: **the hilltop tree by the gated ways

**Character: **Brittany.

**Words: **1,071

Brittany wasn't ready, the first time she met Galen. He made her think of a tree on a hill. All alone and so lonely.

They'd been fostering eleven years by then. Had seen so many kids come and go through their door. Hani, their first baby, had beaten all the odds. He was twelve, and legally theirs, having grown into the preteen no one had expected. While still sick and small for his age, he had beaten the odds, and as a seventh grader, he had the lead role in Willy Wonka, a take on Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. She'd just come in, having picked him up from play rehearsal when Santana called her over to the computer.

"Come look at this," she said, pulling a chair closer, and Brittany sat, studying the picture of three little boys. Brittany scanned the details with some difficulty, and Santana read out loud, sharing details.

"You want them, don't you?" Brittany asked.

"We're down to just Hani right now. Between other placements," Santana pointed out. "If we wanted to do it, this would be the perfect time…"

She tried to picture their house with seventy-five percent more kids. Brittany had a little sister. She didn't know anything about boys, and Santana was an only child. It didn't make sense for them. Plus, Brittany hadn't missed the parts of the profile on the boys that listed their difficulties: academic, social, possible autism spectrum disorder, background of abuse and neglect, looking for a permanent home. Still she found herself printing the picture and sleeping with it under her pillow, not able to get the boys out of her mind. If she and Santana took these boys in, Brittany knew they wouldn't terminate the placement. These boys were looking for a forever family. But were they the right fit?

Over the next few days, Brittany walked through their upstate New York country home. They had the room. It would be cramped, but it was possible. Each of the new boys would have their own rooms, plus one to spare.

It was the perfect place to raise a family. Still, Brittany took her time, thinking it over seriously, before she sat down to dinner with Santana and Hani. She eyed their son playfully, before asking:

"So, how do you feel about brothers?"

Santana's face split into a wide grin, and Hani insisted he would _love_ brothers.

* * *

The first time they officially met, it wasn't like with Hani, who was too small to say anything. Galen, the oldest of his brothers at eight, came in with his head down, his arm protectively around four-year-old, Ethan. The youngest, Jayden, he carried. "Come on," he said to them quietly, leading them into the house.

Hani was in school, so it was just the two of them getting to know these boys for the next two hours. Since Ethan was behind so far that he only announced letters and numbers with any clarity, and Jayden was still a toddler, Galen was their only source of information. They sat down at the table for a snack, the boys still in their coats. Ethan was a screamer and Jayden clung to Galen, not even willing to sit in his own chair.

"Hi," Brittany said quietly. She had tried earlier but gotten no response. "I'm Brittany and this is Santana," she introduced. "You guys are going to be staying with us now, okay?"

"We know," Galen answered shortly.

Those were the only words spoken directly to Brittany by any of the boys for the entire two hours. Ethan screamed, Jayden cried, and Galen acted like a patient parent, while she and Santana felt completely out of their depth.

* * *

It wasn't until their first overnight a week later that Brittany was starting to feel more at ease around them. After settling Jayden and Ethan down to sleep, she went to check on Galen, while Santana helped Hani study for a test on US Geography the next day.

Brittany found Galen hovering in the corner between Ethan and Jayden's bedrooms. She extended a hand, which he didn't take and walked toward his room, stopping outside the door to let him enter first.

"They're okay," Brittany reassured, though she wasn't sure Ethan would ever sleep. She sat on the floor and waited patiently, not knowing if he wanted to hear a story, or if he was too old to be tucked in. She took her cues from the kids, especially early on. Watched their body language, and listened to them that way.

For the first time, Galen turned hazel eyes on Brittany and really looked at her, like he was gauging something about her. Finally, he spoke. "Don't tell my brothers," he said, with tears in his eyes, "but I'm scared."

Brittany cocked her head, and stayed quiet. Then she nodded. "Makes sense."

"No, it doesn't. I'm the oldest. Oldest ones aren't supposed to be scared. Who cares, though?"

"I think _you_ do," Brittany pointed out gently. "You wouldn't be scared if this didn't mean something to you. If this wasn't important."

He narrowed his eyes, and when Brittany didn't say anything, he seemed to relax. "It's up to me to take care of them." Galen gestured vaguely to the bedrooms down the hall where his brothers slept. "It's up to me that we all stay together."

"Can I tell you something?" she said, avoiding the word 'secret', which could be tricky for kids.

Carefully, Galen nodded.

"_I'm _scared, too."

"Grown-ups don't get scared," he scoffed, climbing into bed and turning over.

Standing up, Brittany walked to the door and asked if he wanted the light on or off, and the door open or closed. Then, she said, "See you in the morning," and started down the hall.

"Brittany?" Galen's voice called when she was checking on Jayden, who was sleeping soundly, and Ethan, who was still awake.

She paused outside his door and knocked briefly before sticking her head in. "What, buddy?"

"Do you have a job?"

"Yes."

"Does Santana?"

"Yes. Do you think you can sleep now?" she asked, and he mumbled yes.

Just as she was about to leave, Galen called her back again.

"Brittany? Do _we _mean something to you? Is that why you're scared?"

"Yes."

"So…we're important?"

"So important I can't believe it," she confirmed, closing the door behind her before he could hear how her throat closed with tears.

_The End._


	44. Ethan

**Prompt: **Vacation

**Character: **Brittany

**Words: **972

Brittany tried to imagine it. Having her entire life uprooted. Leaving her home unexpectedly. Without her parents. She tried to imagine a life without anything familiar. Without her own clothes, toys, or books. Now, she imagined being four years old, and not yet able to communicate in a way anyone understood.

This is how she kept her cool when Ethan took every single toy out of the toy box in the living room. When she turned her back for a second to make lunch, while Santana was throwing a load of laundry in to wash and turning back only to discover that he found the remote for the TV and turned the volume up to ear-splitting. When he overturned an entire family sized box of Cheerios on the kitchen floor.

Where Brittany and Santana spent ample time listening to Hani, their twelve-year-old, Galen, who was eight, and even little Jayden, who was two, Brittany spent countless hours in those early days with Ethan just watching him. She steered him clear of danger of course, and talked to him, but how else was she going to learn the important stuff about him?

So, for all intents and purposes, Brittany was Ethan's shadow.

So far, this was what Brittany knew about Ethan:

He was freaked out by change. He didn't seem to need sleep. He screamed a lot and threw impressive tantrums. None of Brittany's old high school superpowers as The Human Brain seemed to serve her in figuring out what was causing him to be so upset. Mostly, she just tried to keep things the same as much as possible. But that was hard, when Jayden was knocking over blocks Ethan stacked, and when everyone in the family was constantly cleaning up rows of toys Ethan left behind.

Brittany didn't like to admit it, but sometimes, it was really hard being a mom.

Resettling Ethan at night was like trying to contain the wind. He was everywhere. In the bedroom with her and Santana at two in the morning, fully dressed somehow, despite the fact that they had been working with him on putting on his own clothes since he got here three weeks ago.

"Mama!" he announced happily, because, to him, they had been mama from the start. Brittany tried to be grateful for the words he did have. That mama was one of them. But she couldn't shake the feeling that his calling them mama was more by default than anything. They were the adults caring for him. So they were mama. It wasn't about love or attachment, at least, not yet.

"Hey, Ethan," she said, as Santana moaned softly and rolled over. She'd just worked eight hours and then came home and was with the kids until bedtime, while Brittany taught dance in the evenings. They shared kid-duty at night, but Brittany always took the first shift.

She took his hand and walked him back to his room, trying to think. "You got dressed. That's really good. I'm proud of you," she said, trying to ignore the fact that, in the process of inexplicably figuring out on his own how to dress himself, Ethan had clothes strewn everywhere.

As usual, Ethan didn't comment, or even seem to hear her. His well-visit at the pediatrician had revealed that he was behind in a lot of ways, including socially. They tried to include him in conversations, but so often, he just didn't seem to hear. That didn't mean, though, that she was going to stop trying.

"When it's night time…when it's dark out…we stay in our rooms and sleep or play quietly," she explained for the millionth time. Galen seemed to grasp the rule immediately, and even Jayden fell into the habit after some time, but getting Ethan into a routine was almost impossible.

"One!" Ethan announced happily.

"One?" Brittany asked, yawning.

Ethan's face split into a happy grin. "Two!"

"Two, that's right. What's next?"

"Three!"

She expected him to stop by five. Definitely by ten. But Ethan kept counting all the way up to nineteen, without help.

Brittany couldn't help but smiling. All of these days, and finally, they'd connected.

* * *

"When I first came here, was I good?" Ethan asked. It was still hard to believe sometimes - how far he'd come in just six years.

"You were awesome," Brittany confirmed.

"Because I could count, right?" he asked, like he already knew the answer.

"No, because you're Ethan," Brittany corrected gently.

Ethan looked past her, over her shoulder, a look of confusion on his face. "That doesn't make sense. I can never not be Ethan."

"I just mean I think you're awesome all the time, even when you're not doing anything at all." Brittany tried to explain.

"Then why didn't they want us? Why did we have to go?"

Brittany tried not to show her surprise. While Galen rarely talked of home, and Hani and Jayden couldn't remember theirs, she had never expected this conversation from Ethan. Still, as his mom, she owed him honesty and understanding. "They couldn't keep you safe."

She just breathed, listening to the silence and letting him process what she'd said. His next words didn't make sense. At least not at first:

"Thank you."

"For what, honey?"

"For keeping us. And keeping us safe."

"You're totally welcome."

"Eye."

When he said it like that, sometimes it still startled her. Smiling, Brittany recovered fast, kissing his forehead. "Elle."

"Oh," he giggled.

"Vee."

"Eee."

"Why?" she asked, like a question.

"Oh," he said, a realization.

"You," they finished together.

Because for Ethan, love was collaborative. So an "I love you" exchanged was more than a pleasantry. It was a mystery. Parts that couldn't go together without another person to help them make sense.

It was a whole story - their story - in eight little letters.

_The End._


	45. Jayden

**Prompt: **Perception

**Character: **Santana

**Words: **1,622

**WARNING: **Allusions to past child abuse.

For Santana, there was no time to adjust. She just went from a mother of one child to a mother of four, in a matter of moments. There was a process. It was kind of gradual. But nothing could really prepare her for the three newest boys she and Brittany would raise. Not even eleven years of fostering. Because every kid was different.

Jayden was no exception.

He had this endearing habit of calling himself JJ and talking about himself in the third person. ("JJ wants…" "JJ likes…" "No JJ night-night.") He also had a heartbreaking habit of thanking Santana, Brittany, or even Hani and Galen, whenever they made him a meal, or when the bigger boys got him a drink.

When Jayden and his brothers had been with Santana and Brittany a few days on a permanent basis, Santana and Brittany (but mostly Santana) had done some crazy schedule-shifting to work out a date and time where both of them, and Hani, could accompany them to the pediatrician for their well-child visit. With these guys, a one-to-one ratio of caregiver to child was absolutely necessary to be safe in public. Ethan got over-stimulated, Galen tended to wander and disappear, and Jayden was an active toddler, who, once he got over his fear of moving, was into everything, and very curious about outside.

So, they asked Hani to keep an eye on Galen, Brittany held Ethan's hand, and Santana held Jayden, who lunged for the ground, and demanded to be put down every few steps.

But the appointment went well. No one melted down beyond what was normal for them.

Maybe this was why, one month into the placement, when Brittany was at work, and Hani was at a friend's working on a school project, Santana thought it would be okay to venture out again. It wasn't as if she was doing it on a whim. Jayden had developed a horrible diaper rash faster than she'd ever seen. And when Santana went in search of the diaper cream, she found it, squeezed into in bowl of the bathroom sink, courtesy of Ethan. Even a call for assistance on Facebook, and texts to friends had gone unanswered.

Brittany wouldn't be home for another few hours, and Jayden was miserable, though he tried to keep up a brave face and the only indication of his discomfort was the fact that he refused to sit.

She called the boys to her and explained what was going to happen. "We need to go to the store to get diaper cream. We're going to get in the car and drive to the store. Jayden and Ethan, you two are going to ride in the stroller. Galen, you walk alongside and hold onto the handle. Does everyone understand?" She handed Ethan a picture of their SUV, so he could get an idea of what was happening, too.

"Yes," Galen and Jayden chorused.

It was a quick trip. And she couldn't, on good conscience, make Jayden wait until Brittany came home. They would be okay. She had confidence.

So, she walked them out to the driveway, carrying Jayden, holding Ethan's hand, and keeping Galen in sight at all times. It was all going well, until Galen called from the back seat.

"Santana?"

"What, buddy?' she asked, relieved to have all three boys safely secured in car or booster seats.

Instead of saying anything, Galen gestured indistinctly toward her.

"Can you tell me?" she asked, trying to keep her patience. Talking to Galen was a lot like talking to Brittany had been at around the same age.

"You need it to be safe in the car," he said, sounding like the host of Jeopardy giving a clue.

"You're right. Can't go anywhere with my seatbelt off."

Santana had only just looked away from the rearview mirror long enough to click it into place, but by the time she looked back, Jayden had lost it, fighting against his car seat straps. He screamed, arched his back and tears rolled down his face.

Santana's heart skipped in her chest. "Jayden, it's okay. We're going to the store and you'll feel better really soon, all right?" she said, looking to Galen and Ethan for clues. Ethan had covered his ears and was rocking back and forth, and was it her imagination, or did Galen look a little pale?

Her head was spinning as Jayden's cries started to sound like something. Like words. It took a second to process, but there they were, loud and gasping:

"No! JJ's good! JJ's good! No! No! No!"

It clicked then that Jayden wasn't in pain, he was terrified. She looked at Galen and raised her voice to be heard over his cries. "Galen, what is it? Can you tell me? What's scaring Jayden?"

His response sent chills up her arms:

"We don't say belt."

* * *

Belt.

Seatbelt.

It might as well be the same to a two-year-old.

Santana sat, momentarily shocked into stillness, gripping the steering wheel. She'd seen the countless scars on Jayden's back, his rear, and the backs of his legs at the well-child check up. They were healed over, and not causing him any pain. But his little mind must have remembered it somehow. And she was at a loss as to how to fix this, as long as Jayden was terrified she would hurt him.

"Galen, listen to me, please. What I said was a mistake. It was something I didn't know, so I said it by accident. I'm not going to hurt Jayden. Can you tell him, so he's not afraid when I come back to help?"

She watched, swallowing back tears, as Galen leaned over and talked to his brother. So far, it wasn't getting through. Ethan had started humming, a guttural sound that added to the chaos in the back. Santana felt like she might lose it, but forced herself to keep it together. She was a grown woman. These were her boys, and they needed her to handle this.

Offering Jayden his pacifier - which was clipped to his shirt - did nothing. His little Cabbage Patch baby dressed like a tiger got thrown on the ground. Trying to talk to him did nothing. And Santana knew, on a gut level, that if she tried to move toward him, to talk to him, it would only make him more afraid. Not knowing what else to do, Santana fell into the first song that came to her mind. A Beatles song that was gentle and upbeat. She couldn't think of the last time she even _thought _about the lyrics, but there they were, like some kind of retro gift.

"_Here comes the sun…Here comes the sun…It's all right_."

Going on instinct, Santana quickly changed every "little darlin'" to "little Jayden." That, in combination with Galen softly pointing out that Santana "knew a song with Jayden's name in it," eventually broke through his panic. After several rounds, he was calm, and Santana moved slowly, around to the back, opening the door and squatting while she talked to him.

"You _are _a good boy. I know you are, Jayden, okay?" she said, forcing herself to keep eye contact even though it killed her. His breaths were uneven and tears still rolled down his cheeks as he watched her seriously. "In this family, right now, with me, and Brittany, and Hani and Galen and Ethan and Jayden? We don't hit." Thinking fast, Santana picked up the baby doll from the floor, and gave it to Jayden to hold. "Tiger Baby's in our family, too, right?" Santana asked quietly. "How do we treat Tiger Baby?"

"Nice…"

"That's right. We treat him nicely. _How_ do we treat him nicely? Show me," Santana asked, keeping her voice light and conversational. And she watched, impressed, as Jayden, put Tiger Baby over his shoulder and patted the doll's back, hugged it and kissed it. It was hard to believe this was the same boy who, four weeks ago, mistreated his doll so intensely that Santana and Brittany put a rush on getting him into play therapy, as well as Ethan and Galen, who needed a safe place to express their feelings, too.

"Very good. That's right. You are so smart, Jayden. You know that? Just like how you treat Tiger Baby nicely, _I_ treat _you_ nicely, don't I?"

"'Cause JJ's good," Jayden said seriously.

"No. Because Jayden's a _person_. And we don't hurt people, do we? If we make a mistake we…what, Galen?"

"Fix it?" Galen asked, hesitant.

"Right."

"And if we make a bad choice, what do we do?" Santana quizzed, wanting the lesson to sink in for all three boys.

"Think about it," Galen said more confidently.

"We don't hit each other, do we?"

"No, we don't hit. We _love_, right?" Galen asked Jayden, while Ethan continued to rock.

"Yeah, JJ _love_…" Jayden confirmed softly, his voice hoarse.

* * *

Santana blinked and found herself behind the wheel again. This time, of a smaller car, with eight-year-old Jayden in the back, talking her ear off about a bit hit he got in Little League. And the catch he made. And how fast he ran the bases.

"Are you buckled?" Santana asked, because, years later, Jayden had a kind of involuntary flinch whenever they used the wrong word. Even though he claimed it was no big deal, Santana remembered.

"Yeah, Mom. But did you see my catch? My _outfield_ catch?"

"I did. It was great," she praised.

They drove in silence for a while until Jayden started humming a familiar melody under his breath. Softly, she joined in, catching his silly grin in the rearview mirror, as she turned onto their street, and toward a brilliant setting sun.

_The End._


	46. Ori

**Prompt: **"It isn't what it looks like, I swear!"

**Characters: **Brittany & Santana

**Words: **923

They have three days to get ready for Ori. Unlike most of the kids who come to stay with them, with Ori, there is some notice. Out comes the crib. The infant car seat, the high chair, and all the other gear that comes with the arrival of a baby. Or a nearly seven-month-old. One Brittany and Santana know from the outset they have a good chance of being able to adopt.

They discuss it first with each other, and then with their four boys. Hani's been with them since he was a year old. He's thirteen now, and settled in well. It's the other three, who have only been here for eighteen months that make Brittany and Santana hesitate. Though nine year old Galen and his brothers, Ethan and Jayden (who are five and three) have had their adoption finalized for nine months, neither Brittany nor Santana are naïve enough to assume that adjustment to a new sibling would be easy.

"What do you guys think about having a baby come and live here with us?" Santana asks one evening as they all sit together after dinner.

"One baby already came to live with us," Galen pointed out. "She's back now, with her own family, right? Is it her? Does she have to come back?"

"No, this would be a different baby. A baby boy. He might be here for a while." Santana explains, looking at Hani.

"It's fine," he says. "You know how I feel about brothers," he offers grinning.

Santana watches as Brittany gets down on the floor where Ethan and Jayden are playing near each other.

"Ethan," she waits until he pauses and looks in her general direction. "Would you like a new baby to stay here with us?" she asks, deliberately, quietly, to give him time to take in the questions.

He nods and gestures in Jayden's direction.

"How many brothers do you have, Ethan?" Brittany asks.

"Three," Ethan says, smiling to himself.

"That's right. What's three brothers plus one brother?"

"Four brothers…" Ethan says, a little giggle escapes.

"Does _him_ have brothers?" Jayden interjects.

"What, honey?" Brittany asks.

"_Him_. That baby. Does him have brothers?"

"Nope. Not yet."

"I want him at this house," Jayden says seriously.

"How come?" Brittany wonders.

"'Cause babies _need _brothers to take care them."

* * *

Ori arrives on a Monday like any other, after a few follow-up conversations with Jayden, reminding him that grown-ups take care of babies, and brothers play with them. Ori is tiny, for almost seven months, with serious eyes and a sad face. Brittany loves him already.

By the time Santana and the rest of the boys come home, Brittany is on the couch, with Ori swaddled in the wrap at her front. It's like a womb. She pats Ori and hums to him while Jayden sleeps tucked against her side, Tiger Baby safe in his arms.

* * *

It's a whole week before Santana gets a day off to spend with Brittany and all the boys. In that time, Brittany has become protective and insistent about bonding with Ori. She wears him around in the wrap, which he loves. He's a happy baby mostly. And strong. He pulls himself to standing while Brittany and Santana watch in shock. He barely looks old enough to crawl, and here he is, standing.

The other boys have this way of swarming him. Ori's still novel to them, so Santana has to be sure they don't overwhelm him, and that they aren't feeling ignored. It's hard to balance parenting five kids. But together, she and Brittany learn.

It's during a quiet moment, when Santana and Brittany are snuggling with each other, and Ori in the wrap, that Santana's radar goes off. It's an instinct she's honed after a dozen years of fostering. A couple minutes of quiet are normal. But anything beyond that, and she needed to check it out.

"Stay here," she says, kissing Brittany's temple and going in search of the boys.

* * *

Santana doesn't say anything when she finds them. Just stares, with her arms crossed, until Hani turns slightly, a guilty expression on his face.

"It isn't what it looks like, I swear!" he hurries to explain, trying not to move his mouth.

Santana bites the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing out loud. "Really. Because it _looks like_ you _painted _your brothers." Despite the humor in the situation, Santana hasn't missed the fact that Ethan, with a snake on his face, has paint everywhere, including his clothes. Jayden, whose face has been transformed into a tiger, has his hand in a cup of paintbrush water. Galen, who has a shark on his cheek, is calmly painting Hani's face green.

"Okay…maybe it _is _what it looks like…" Hani allows. "I wanted to practice face-painting…"

"I see that. Is there a carnival coming up?" she asks, joining them at the table.

"Nope, just practicing my skills." Hani says trying to keep his face still.

"Someday, we can paint Ori's face…" Galen offers thoughtfully. "I'll paint a koala on him, because that's what he's like, with mama all the time."

"You hold _me_, please, Mom?" Jayden asks, climbing onto her lap.

"You bet. I'll hold all of my boys. For as long as they want."

"I want right now," Jayden sighs.

Santana smiles as Ethan climbs up, too, wrapping his arms around her neck. Galen and Hani keep working in silence. Santana closes her eyes, reminding herself that this is what's important.

They'll worry about the mess later.

_The End._


	47. Paradise

**Prompt: **A key (canon) part of your character's storyline didn't happen. Write the resulting AU.

**Characters: **Quinn & Artie

**Words: **1,002

Quinn's recovery isn't miraculous. As much as she wishes that were true, it isn't. She should have known when it took her two months to return to school. Five additional weeks did little for her recovery. There was pain all the time.

The four-hour bus ride from Lima to Chicago had been agonizing.

Because of the fact that she had to learn to rely on a random bus aid to secure her chair into place. She's sure the millions of straps and buckles on the chair are supposed to make Quinn feel safe, but they really only make her feel more trapped. It meant if there was a crash - if she were _lucky _- someone could free her from the chair, but the chair would remain behind, and she'd have no way to get around. Plus - and no one warned her about this, not even Artie - but having someone you don't know in your physical space who is basically restraining you? Not reassuring. It's not the same as putting on her own seat belt in the car, which - let's face it - hadn't done her a lot of good anyway. It had felt violating in a way she couldn't put words to. Maybe if it had been Mr. Schue, or Miss Pillsbury or Coach Beiste (who were also along for the trip) it wouldn't have been as bad. But Quinn gritted her teeth. She got through it.

But then there was the pain that jolted through her at every bump. How she had an unfortunately good view of straight ahead and to both sides. So, she had been scanning constantly for oncoming traffic. Tensing at every unexpected sound - from Rachel and Tina's impromptu rendition of that song from Flashdance to any and all of their Nationals music.

And the isolation. The fact that she and Artie were across the aisle from one another and everyone else sat halfway back in regular seats. There was no way Quinn could reach anyone, or face, or talk to anyone without craning her neck, which sent sharp pain down her back and into her legs, months later. Artie coped by Skyping various kids behind them on his phone, but Quinn didn't trust hers. She kept it out of sight and only used it when she was completely stationary.

Still, Quinn can't help asking herself, now that they're here - is it worth it? Is it worth the $300 she paid to come along on this trip, when they didn't really have money to spare anymore, especially when she and Artie find themselves sitting off to the side while everyone else is fighting - and practicing. Well, Artie's actually helping Puck with his geography, at Mr. Schue's request. Quinn isn't doing anything.

Backstage, Quinn watches Santana and Brittany hold hands and smile at each other. She hears "Unholy Trinity" whispered between them and feels a pang that has nothing to do with her injuries. Then the curtain rises and the girls take the stage. Well, all the girls but Quinn. She sits backstage with Artie in the wings. Though Mike and Brittany tried to convince Mr. Schuester that they could rechoreograph to include everyone, he had refused, saying it was too close to showtime to rearrange everything, and they couldn't risk it.

"Was it _always _like this for you?" Quinn whispers incredulous, as she and Artie wait for the final two minutes of _Paradise by the Dashboard Light_ when Blaine and Tina would come and push them out onstage. All the girls are singing _Edge of Glory_ right now, and Quinn watches as Tina takes the solo that should have been hers.

"Yes," he says.

"How can you stand it?" Quinn blocks out the sounds of Rachel freaking out somewhere behind her, and Finn reassuring voice.

"It's better than it was at first," he shrugs. "I'm just glad they include me at all."

"Well I wouldn't put up with it," she says, her voice flat. "We paid to come on this trip. We're a part of the team, and we're stuck in the wings for all but half a song."

"It's just the way it is. It's not about putting up with it, it's about understanding that sometimes you have to pick your battles. I'd love to be fully included in everything, but frankly, not everyone is comfortable with that," Artie points out.

"Screw them. It's not about them. They're not the ones who fought to be here, who endured an awful bus ride and paid money I don't have to sit on the sidelines while everyone else performs and pushes _us _out when it's convenient."

"You want me to say it's not fair? It's not. But I'd rather be a small part of a winning team than not be included at all, wouldn't you?"

Quinn doesn't have the chance to answer, because Blaine and Tina are there to push them onstage, and it goes by in a blur. The stage lights are hot and bright. There is no time to think of pain or isolation or insecurity. She has to remember the words. She has to sing. She has to hit the choreography she's been given.

She is Quinn Fabray, who knows nothing more intimately than how, exactly, to sell a performance. So she smiles. She sings, and she hits the last beat of choreography, center stage, beside Artie, her arms extended above her head.

Artie's right. Because, if given the choice, Quinn will always choose being on the fringes of a winning team, than not being on a team at all. Paradise it's not. But somehow, they win. And she overhears Mr. Schuester telling Mike and Brittany how well the choreography worked. He comes over and high-fives her - something he never would have done before - and somehow - Quinn smiles and takes it. Knowing, thanks to someone who's walked this path before, just what you have to do when the world you know changes right before your eyes.

_The End._


	48. Pranks

**Prompt: **Dalton muck up day

**Character: **Trent & Wes

**Words: **529

Trent isn't a fan of pranks. He never has been. But on the last day of Wes's senior year, he can't resist getting in on a little bit of the fun. While Wes is gone to class, Trent sneaks into his dorm and decorates it with celebratory signs. Wes has always been an integral part of Trent's Dalton experience, and, he suspects, they are of a similar mind when it comes to pranks. Some of the Warblers wouldn't mind a good joke, and for others (like Trent, and maybe like Wes) pranks are juvenile. There's a time and a place for them - a whole day dedicated to them in April, for which, Trent keeps a very low profile - so there's no reason for this.

But pranks are okay if they're in good spirit. This has always been Trent's position.

Between classes, Trent leaves campus and begins phase two of Operation Make Wes Smile. He goes to a local store and fills a basket with several bags of what he came for. When he gets back to Dalton, with a few minutes to spare, Trent packs all the items in a nondescript box and leaves it on Wes's decorated bed.

At Trent's next break, he heads back to the dorms and peers inside Wes's door, which stands open. Plastic green and tan soldiers dot the bed and the floor. The cardboard box has been transformed into a makeshift barricade. Trent smiles a little and knocks on the doorframe.

"Hey. Thanks for the army men," Wes says, a big smile on his face.

"Yeah, no problem. Thought you might want a break from senior stuff."

"You mean getting pelted with water balloons and forced to wear pajamas for better part of today?" Wes asks dryly.

"Let me guess," Trent says, coming in and sitting on the desk chair, to avoid the soldiers. "You're not a fan of senior pranks, either…"

"There's a time and a place for fun…but school…I don't know. I can't get past the feeling that it's disrespectful."

"Me, too," Trent admits.

"So…you wanna play soldiers?" Wes asks, raising an eyebrow. "I'm trying to teach them the Warblers' performance for graduation, but their movements are a little stiff…"

"Ah, I see…" Trent says, picking up one soldier. "Well, I don't think that really matters. They already know about how to be a member of a team. How to look out for each other. What it means to be brothers. Those are the most important things, don't you think?"

"Yes, I do," Wes nods seriously. He turns his full attention on Trent. "The Warblers have been through a lot of changes lately. But you have to promise me that you will not lose your ability to think for yourself. To make the right decisions…even if they're the difficult ones…even if it's something everyone else says is okay."

"I will. I mean, I won't," Trent shakes his head, confused. Finally he just settles on, "I promise. We'll miss you, Wes."

"I'll miss you, too. If you need me, don't hesitate. Once a Warbler…"

"Always a Warbler," Trent finishes, and finds, he feels a little bit better about Wes leaving.


End file.
